Fragmented Memories
by yumi michiyo
Summary: A canon divergence: Kohaku's memories are gone for good, except for one woman's face and he refuses to believe she is his sister. A dark and twisted love story. Rated for future content. Sango/Miroku, some Sango/Kohaku.
1. One: The Beginning Of The End

Kohaku stared blankly at the wall; his master was nervous.

"They're all gone," growled Naraku, his red eyes jumping back and forth in their sockets. "You're the only one left, Kohaku. Coming to two years of being pursued by Inuyasha and his ragtag band and this is all that is left."

He received no answer.

The hanyou's lip curled into a smirk. "At least I shall enjoy the pleasure of killing you before Sango's eyes, one of the last few I have left. Manipulating you is so easy – like a puppet at the end of my silk threads."

Something clicked behind the young slayer's eyes – silk threads. Like a dam had been removed, memories flooded back into Kohaku's mind. He saw everything and remembered.

Bowing his head so his erstwhile master would not see his tears, Kohaku plotted his vengeance: for his people, his father, his sister, himself. The atrocities he had committed – even when he was not in control of his body – were seared vividly in his mind; the stealing of his innocence complete. Tears wet the boy's cheeks.

"It's over, Naraku, because they're_ all_ gone now."

* * *

The group was closing in; Naraku had nowhere left to run. His red eyes widened as the realization sank in. He was so accustomed to relying on others to do his legwork: he was certainly not used to getting his own hands dirty.

"It's over, Naraku!" yelled Inuyasha, advancing towards the villain. "You're dead!"

He did not reply, surveying his surroundings. The wolves – led by Kouga – were cutting swathes through the hordes of lower demons he had summoned. Sesshoumaru had appeared at his left, wielding Tokaijin and felling the hordes. Kikyou had fallen by his hand and disappeared, her death not assured of. Even then, it did not seem to faze Inuyasha. One by one, all the wily demon's life lines were being cut.

"Perhaps," murmured the demon, eyeing his opponents casually. His body rippled and shifted as he began to transform.

"Look out!"

With a blast, Naraku exploded, hurling Inuyasha and Sesshoumaru a good distance away. The smoke soon cleared, leaving a gigantic demon spider standing there. Kagewaki's torso remained mounted on the spider's back in a gruesome tangle of limbs, a smirk etched on his face.

Poison spewed from its mouth, drenching the ground with a sickening hiss. Inuyasha dived in, Tetsusaiga held aloft.

"Die, you bastard!"

He cut through one leg, severing it. The beast roared and lashed out, catching the hanyou in his side and flinging him into a tree. Sesshoumaru remained impassive, leaping in to continue his brother's attack.

A blast of energy from Tokaijin slammed into the spider's main body, rocking the massive frame. Instead of attacking him physically like it did Inuyasha, sticky webbing fluid shot out of its mouth. Sesshoumaru tried to cut away the fluid instead of dodging but it clung to his hair and clothes, binding him within its gluey mess.

"Damn!" Inuyasha got to his feet but was quickly subdued by a gob of sticky fluid. The two dog demons incapacitated, Naraku turned his attention to his other enemies.

"Inuyasha!" Kagome notched and fired an arrow at Naraku but it missed, flying over one leg. However, the spiritual power imbued in the shaft burned him as it flew past, eliciting a growl from the transformed hanyou.

"Die, miko!" rumbled the spider, shooting out a stream of poison at the girl. There was no way he could miss from that distance, and her usual protector was unconscious, sprawled at the foot of the tree he had collided with…

"Kagome-chan!"

Sango came swooping out of nowhere on Kirara's back and yanked the girl to safety. The deadly poison sizzled harmlessly on the grass, burning an ugly crater into the soil. Naraku snarled.

"Curse you, Sango!" They were already out of his range and he decided to change targets.

"Naraku!"

The target presented itself to him, right on schedule. A figure in black and purple stood there, his right hand held in front of him.

"Naraku! I've been waiting for this moment!" shouted Miroku, pulling off his prayer beads in one fluid moment and exposing the palm of his hand.

Uncovered, the Kazaana sprang to life with a howling and swirling of black-purple winds. Naraku did not even bother to attack him, summoning a host of saimyoshou instead.

"Houshi-sama!" Sango had returned, minus Kagome, landing at Miroku's side. "Close your Kazaana!"

She did not need to tell him twice. Faced with the massive horde Naraku had summoned, the monk growled and clenched his fist, taking up his shakujou again.

"Where's Kagome-sama?" he asked the demon slayer at his side as they prepared to fight.

"With Inuyasha and Sesshoumaru. She's trying to free them both."

The giant spider made a strange sound that could have been a laugh. "Sango and the monk. I will enjoy killing you both."

Miroku appeared unfazed. "Not if we kill you first." He darted underneath the spider's body, out of reach from its dangerous spiked legs and swung his staff at its underbelly. It bit into the torso in a shallow gash, the wound oozing ichor and miasma. The monk staggered back, one sleeve thrown over his face to protect himself from the fumes.

"Hiraikotsu!" Naraku scrambled backwards, narrowly missing the Hiraikotsu as it flew in a low arc where his head had previously been. Sango soared overhead, catching the boomerang as it returned to her hand –

"Sango!"

The spider launched a jet of poison upwards at the slayer and her nekomata partner. Although it missed them, Kirara was startled enough to veer to the side violently. Thrown off balance by her heavy weapon, Sango slipped off her back.

"I'm alright, Houshi-sama!" She hurled the boomerang as she fell, the sharpened edge digging into the spider's back. The angle from which it had been thrown meant that it remained stuck in Naraku's back, rendering it useless. Looking down, the slayer was alarmed to find the ground was farther away than she'd estimated it to be and it was rushing closer at a deadly speed, making it impossible for her to land safely.

Sango braced herself for the impact which never came.

Kirara swooped down, catching her mistress on her broad back. She made an 'oof' sound as she crashed on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

"Thanks, Kirara," said Sango gratefully, caressing her companion's fur. The nekomata growled in response as they gained a good distance from their opponent. Recovering swiftly, she yanked Hiraikotsu out of the wound it had cut in Naraku's back as they went.

Miroku was battling fiercely, his shakujou and the spider's talons clashing again and again. He had seen Sango fall and tried to go to her but was prevented at every opportunity by a massive limb.

The relief on his face was palpable as he saw her on Kirara's back.

"Sango!" The moment of distraction cost him dearly; one scythed leg swept down, knocking the shakujou from his hands and sending the monk sprawling on the ground.

"Houshi-sama!" Sango hurled the Hiraikotsu but was a split-second too late: the deadly leg flew downwards towards Miroku's heart –

– and was severed by a white streak. Inky-black blood sprayed from the stump over Miroku's robes as he recovered and rolled away to safety.

The weapon returned to its owner's hand as Kohaku leapt into the fray. The boy was dressed in his slayer's outfit, a poison mask concealing the lower half of his face.

"Kohaku!"

Sango flew forward and dismounted, running to her brother's side. His armour was splattered dark with blood of the lesser demons he had fought to reach Naraku.

"Ane-ue…"

Naraku smirked. "There you are, Kohaku. I wondered where you'd been. Really, I am quite impressed. I would never have expected betrayal from you, my puppet, not when I hold your mind in my hand."

"Betrayal?" whispered Sango, hardly daring to believe it. "Kohaku, you..."

The young boy's lips twisted into a snarl, the hatred in his eyes making him seem much older than his thirteen years.

"I'm going to kill you today, Naraku," he said quietly. Even then, fear tugged at Naraku's heart. "I'm going to avenge the wrongs you made me do!"

The pitiless red eyes regarded him for a moment. "How disappointing," said the demon at last. "You've regained your memories. And I was hoping you'd kill Sango for me."

"You…" snarled Sango.

"Leave Ane-ue alone," answered Kohaku, in that eerily calm tone. "It's me who's your opponent."

Unnoticed, Miroku snatched up his shakujou and reached into his robes for an ofuda.

The Hiraikotsu and a kusari-gama whistled through the air and hit Kagewaki's chest, blasting open the mass of flesh to reveal the Shikon jewel. An ofuda followed soon after, purifying Naraku's body, widening the hole.

"Sango-chan!"

Kagome had reappeared at Sango and Kohaku's side, bow in hand. Without needing to be told, the younger girl took aim briefly and fired.

The arrow struck the jewel full on, the impact knocking it out of Naraku's body. Kagewaki's eyes widened as the power source of his transformation was cut off from him.

The giant spider form shrunk, giving off vast amounts of poisonous miasma. Kagome and Miroku were able to combine their spiritual powers to form a barrier around themselves, Sango and Kohaku, avoiding the effects of the gas.

Kagewaki stood alone, Onigumo's twisted soul still imprisoned in its prison of flesh, when the purple fumes had dissipated. The lord's handsome features were twisted in loathing, giving him a hideous appearance. The infamous spider scar stood out in vivid red on his naked back, slowly pulsating with every beat of his heart.

"This is the end, Naraku!" shouted Kagome, arrow aimed at their enemy's heart. Sango, Miroku and Kohaku stood at the ready, arrayed around her, their weapons pointed at him.

Naraku gave them a chilling smirk again, sending shivers down their spines.

"Yes."

Without warning, he dashed forward at Kohaku, sending his kusari-gama clattering to the ground. Kagome loosened her arrow; it hit Naraku in the shoulder, blowing his arm off. Ignoring his injury, the hanyou seized the boy's face with his remaining hand.

"Let him go!" snarled Sango, holding Hiraikotsu above her head threateningly.

"Certainly."

Blue light shimmered around Kohaku's face and he fell backward with a cry. Sango snapped, lashing out with her boomerang. Naraku dodged the wild blow and retreated to a safe distance, letting a horde of saimyosho regenerate his missing limb and form a deadly curved blade protruding from the forearm.

"Kohaku!" Sango dropped her weapon, falling to her knees next to her unconscious brother, putting her arms around him.

"What did you do to him?!" shouted Miroku, pointing his shakujou at Naraku.

"I merely granted Kohaku his dearest wish, monk, as his reward for two years of devoted service," sneered the baboon-suited man, angling the tip of his blade down. "I destroyed all of his memories – a little parting gift." The smirk stretched into a hideous grimace. "To remember me by."

Sango paled. "Bastard – !" growled Miroku, raising his staff, smashing it into the earth where Naraku had previously been.

Kagome knelt down beside Sango and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sango-chan…" The slayer's face was lowered, making it impossible to see her face.

"Kagome-chan… take care of Kohaku."

She rose to her feet slowly and drawing her wakizashi, joined the battle.

The harsh sounds of metal on metal echoed as Sango and Miroku alternately attacked Naraku. He seemed to be unaccustomed to his human form, falling back with every strike from them.

"Sango-chan! Miroku-sama! It's a trick!" Kagome called over to them. "He's trying to get the Shikon jewel!"

"No he won't."

Inuyasha stood there, bits of webbing clinging to his clothes, looking as pissed as hell. Sesshoumaru was with him, in a similar condition.

Miroku anticipated what was coming next and grabbing Sango by the waist, ran from their nemesis.

"Bakuryuuha!"

"Souryuuha!"

The combined attacks of both brothers hit Naraku square in the chest in a swirl and crackle of intersecting energy. There was a blinding flash of light and when it was gone, all that was left of what was once the most feared demon in Japan was a pile of ashes.

Silence hung in the air for a full minute.

It was broken when Inuyasha whooped with joy, rushing to Kagome just as she was running to him.

"We did it, Naraku's dead!" He swung her up, spinning around in circles as she laughed.

The miko felt giddy with relief. It was over, he was dead. They were free. They had managed it and everyone was still in one piece…

"Wait."

They quieted down, glancing at the still form of Kohaku on the ground.

"_I destroyed all of his memories."_

Sango felt a hand tighten around her shoulders. "Sango?"

"What Naraku said…"

Miroku's mouth was a grim slash.

As though struck by a sudden thought, Sango turned to him. "Houshi-sama, your Kazaana…"

He blinked: with his worry over Sango, he had completely forgotten. Tentatively – for fear he might be bitterly disappointed – Miroku began unwrapping his right hand. In the centre of his palm sat a dwindling black circle, small gusts of wind ruffling his bangs. As they both watched, it slowly faded away into nothing, leaving behind smooth unblemished flesh.

They sat there in shocked silence. Sango gazed up at him with brimming eyes. "Houshi-sama…" Happiness shone there, reflected in his own violet ones.

His breath catching in his throat, Miroku gently placed his right hand – his whole hand – against Sango's cheek, the warmth of her skin a new sensation on his. The slayer leaned into his palm, covering his hand with her own.

"Sango."

He was not calling her, nor trying to get her attention. He merely let slip the name past his lips, filled with naked love and wonder. She had always loved the sound of her name falling from that honeyed tongue of his. Miroku's voice was filled with a longing which Sango ached to fill. Now that they were both free, all her dreams of a happy future which she had secreted away rushed back to her mind.

After being raised to the highest heavens, Sango crashed down again to reality as she remembered.

Kohaku lay still in front of her, his eyes closed, his face pale as death. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still alive.

Sango broke her eye contact with the monk, turning her attention back to her brother. If there was disappointment in his eyes, Miroku hid it well, dropping his hand from her face and moving it to the young boy's shoulder.

"We should move him inside," he said quietly. "Get him out of those blood-stained clothes."

She nodded dumbly, her gaze fixed on the unconscious Kohaku. She wanted to apologize but somehow she knew he would understand. He always did.

Together, they carried him inside, leaving Inuyasha and Kagome to retrieve the Shikon jewel and handle the aftermath of the battle. No words were exchanged as the couples reached a silent understanding, departing to fulfill their own tasks.

Kaede's face had darkened, seeing Sango and Miroku's return bearing their bundle. Wordlessly, she motioned towards a nearby hut, abandoned by its owners two seasons before.

They made him comfortable the best they could, with old kimonos and bedding. Sango knelt by her brother's shoulder, cleaning his face with a wet cloth when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Get some rest, Sango. I'll take care of him." Miroku eased the cloth from suddenly limp fingers and dabbed the boy's forehead. Numbly, Sango rose and went to change out of her filthy slayer's outfit.

Her fingers moved mechanically over the individual pieces of her garb, untying and removing the armour and stowing each part in her carrying cloth. As she worked, Sango stared fixedly ahead, fear and uncertainty battling with elation and relief for dominance over her heart.

Naraku was dead. The evil creature which had blighted their lives, who they had spent the past two years in pursuit of was finally gone. Her people were avenged.

But Kohaku…

Her brother was back at her side again but Naraku had one final twist left for her. There was no telling what he had done to Kohaku until he woke up – if he ever woke up.

Belatedly, Sango realized she had been wringing her obi into a crumpled mess. Smoothening it out hastily, she retied it into its customary knot and walked out, her carrying cloth slung loosely over her shoulders.

Instinct made her hesitate outside the entrance to the hut. Approaching cautiously, she picked up low tones.

Miroku was seated cross-legged where she had left him, conferring with Kaede. Now and then they stole glances at the sleeping boy. They were unaware of her presence, as evidenced by the snatches of conversation she picked up here and there.

"Sango doesn't – "

"Kohaku – "

" – Naraku would have done – "

" – probably exhaustion – "

Having heard enough, Sango walked through the doorway with little fuss. Both Kaede and Miroku fell silent, the latter turning to her with a strained smile.

"Sango. We didn't hear you come in."

"I'm sorry, Houshi-sama, Kaede-sama." She laid down her bundle in one corner of the hut, resuming her position at her brother's shoulder. "How is he?"

Kaede shook her head solemnly. "Houshi-dono and I detect nothing from him, no lingering trace of Naraku's evil. But for some reason – "

" – he will not wake up."

The elderly miko watched Sango warily with her one good eye. "I am sorry, Sango."

"No. Don't be, Kaede-sama. You have been a good friend. I understand."

Miroku read her body language and responded.

"Come, Kaede-sama," he said, getting to his feet, the rings of his shakujou jingling softly as he moved. "The others will need medical aid. The battle was long and bloody."

Once Kaede had left the hut, he leaned forward and clasped her small hand in his. It was as cold as ice. Miroku hesitated, before rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Sango?"

"I'm fine, Houshi-sama. Go. They need you."

Hurt flashed across his face for an instant before it was replaced by an infinite patience and acceptance.

"As you wish."

The sound of his footsteps echoed away and was gone. Sango gave way to tears, her face buried in Kohaku's neck.

It was not fair. After all that they – _she_ had done – Kohaku was still not free of Naraku. He was as removed from her as he had been when he served the evil demon.

Could the kamis be as cruel as to deprive her of having both her brother and her fiancé?


	2. Two: Vigil

Sango kept constant vigil by her brother's bedside. Now and then she would dab his face with a cloth, adjust his blankets or smooth his hair; small, useless actions. She knew they were pointless, but it kept her hands busy as Kohaku fought his own personal battle.

How long before he woke up? If he ever woke up? Even if he did, what would he be like? Would he remember nothing – or worse: everything?

So many questions swirled unanswered in her mind and she was helpless to answer them.

"Sango?" Miroku came in, balancing a tray of food in one hand, his shakujou in a white-knuckled grip in the other. She gave a start, darting over to help him with his burden.

"I brought you some lunch," he said pleasantly. "Kagome-sama guessed you wouldn't want to come out and eat so she prepared this for you." The monk motioned to a covered bowl sitting on at the corner of the tray. "This is herbal soup for Kohaku, Kaede-sama was kind enough to brew it specially this morning."

"Thank you, Houshi-sama. Please thank Kagome-chan and Kaede-sama for me later." Sango took the bowl first, easing Kohaku into a seated position with Miroku's help and spooning the warm liquid into his mouth. Only when the last few drops were scraped up and Kohaku helped back into bed did she turn to her own meal.

Sango ate everything on the tray with little fuss, not really tasting the food, eating for the sake of nourishing her body. Miroku watched her with hooded eyes.

"When was the last time you slept, Sango?" he asked abruptly as soon as she put down her chopsticks. She gave him a tired smile, piling the dishes neatly back on the tray and pushing it to one side.

"Last night. I wasn't tired, Houshi-sama."

"Bullshit," he exclaimed. She blinked in surprise; she had never heard him use such coarse language before.

"Houshi-sama?!"

"There are dark circles under your eyes," said Miroku coldly; she noticed he avoided looking directly at her, fixing his flinty gaze on the wall of the hut. "Tell me the truth – I deserve that much."

His words stung her into belligerent self-defence. "So I haven't been sleeping regularly," she hissed. "So what of it? Kohaku is my brother. It is my duty to look after him."

"By making yourself sick? I suspect if I didn't bring food for you at mealtimes, you wouldn't be eating at all."

"Do you think so little of me? My only brother is lying there – I don't know if he'll ever wake up – and I am powerless to help!" Sango glared fiercely at him. "I am a taijiya, not some weak, simpering village woman: I don't fall ill that easily."

Miroku turned to face her, the anger in his eyes replaced by a deep sadness. "And I am your fiancé."

The fight went out of Sango and she slumped. "Don't ask me to choose, Houshi-sama, please."

"I never did. I only want you to take care of yourself as well." An awkward silence descended over the pair.

The monk reached out and felt the sleeping boy's forehead, frowning in concentration. "If it's any consolation, he's not in any pain or suffering." He withdrew from the bedside and gathered up the tray. She let him leave without saying anything; although the slayer knew he was angry with her, she was not exactly calm herself.

_I'd best apologize to him later – or I might say something now I'd regret._

Sango knew she was to blame for the argument – Miroku was so patient with her, he very rarely lost his temper. She should not have lashed out at him like that but she could not help it: caring for Kohaku night and day was running her ragged despite her best efforts. The stress showed, regretfully through harsh words and flared tempers.

She would have gone after him there and then, taken his hand in both of hers and beg his forgiveness but her stubborn pride held her rooted to the ground.

_He should understand – I almost lost Kohaku. I don't want to lose him again. I'm sorry, Miroku. But before I knew you, there was my little brother. He was always there as far back as I can remember._

Almost immediately after thinking that, Sango bit her lip in contrition. She had no right to be thus opinionated: Miroku had done so much for her in the short time between her tragedy and Naraku's fall. She had a duty to them both; Kohaku for their blood ties, Miroku for loving her.

And – kamis help her! – she loved him back, enough to almost forgotten her unhappy brother in the face of her concern for him.

Somewhere between caring for Kohaku and wallowing in her melancholy thoughts, Sango fell asleep.

The next thing she knew, a hand was shaking her awake gently. "Sango, time to eat." The slayer opened her eyes to find Miroku there, another tray balanced on one hand.

"You look hungry; eat first while it's still hot. I'll feed Kohaku," he said, his voice blandly polite before she could open her mouth.

"I'm not hungry," she mumbled stubbornly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Sango chanced a look upwards which quickly dropped upon seeing his emotionless face, shame and embarrassment burning her cheeks.

"Eat. It's your dinner." The monk's eyes flicked sideways. "You'd fall sick otherwise."

Meekly – for fear she might aggravate the situation if she trusted her rebellious mouth to speak – the slayer let him set the tray in front of her. Miroku took a bowl and spoon from it, turning his attention to the sleeping boy.

Sango ate sullenly, following his every move over the rim of her rice bowl. Miroku had his back turned to her and she did not see much other than the occasional spilled mouthful; now and then, he would murmur soothing words, coaxing the boy to eat more. The heart-warming sight of the two most important men in her life melted something hard and cold inside of her and Sango relented.

"I'm sorry, Houshi-sama," she said softly.

He did not react whatsoever, calmly pulling the blankets over Kohaku's still form.

Sango blushed furiously and went back to her dinner, stung that he was still angry with her.

"I'll take the dishes back to Kaede-sama's hut," she said, not looking at him.

Miroku did not even look up. "Thank you," he muttered absently.

A dull sense of dread forming in the pit of her stomach, Sango gathered the things and stepped out into the sharp night air. It had been a while – she knew it was at least a few days – since she had left Kohaku's side without intending to return immediately. Only the guilt she felt seeing the hurt in his eyes drove her legs to carry her body from the hut.

He was right: her pride still stubbornly refused to let her admit it yet. She needed this break, more than anything. The slayer walked slowly, following the dirt path to the river and kneeling to wash the dirty dishes.

When her hands touched the water, Sango let out an involuntary gasp. The water was icy. The young woman rinsed the utensils as quickly as she could, minimizing her contact with the river. Stacking them neatly at the side, she hesitated for the briefest of moments before bringing a handful of freezing water to her face.

The sensation was numbing. Rubbing at her cheeks vigorously, she wiped it dry with her green apron. Sango felt alive again, the stinging cold rejuvenating her senses. Much more cheerful than before, she made her way to the lit hut at the corner of the village.

She pushed aside the door hanging to find Inuyasha, Kagome, Shippou, Kirara and Kaede sitting around the hearth drinking tea. Judging from the mild looks of surprise they wore, they did not anticipate the possibility she would leave Kohaku's bedside.

"I've brought back the dishes," she said by way of explaining her unexpected appearance, holding out the tray in her hands. "They've been washed already."

"Thanks, Sango-chan," chirped Kagome, taking the utensils from her and stacking them neatly with the others. "Where's Miroku-sama?"

"Tending to Kohaku." A faint blush coloured her cheeks as a little guilt nagged at her. "I really should be getting back."

"Ye should stay for some tea, Sango," interrupted Kaede. "Let Houshi-dono take over for a while; ye look exhausted."

"I'm fine – "

The younger girl gave her a warm smile, linking her arm with Sango's. "Kaede-baa-chan's right. You'll fall sick if you go on like this. I'm sure Miroku-sama will look after Kohaku-kun just fine."

The slayer wanted to refuse; to pull her arm from Kagome's grasp and return to her pale, sleeping brother's side, even though she was not even sure whether he knew she was there or not. The least she could do for him was to be there, like she had never been when he was younger. Her taijiya training had somehow always taken precedence over a small boy and his toys. The guilt stirred up by his disappointed face was driven from her mind by the latest move her father was teaching: they both had little time for him.

The expectant faces of her friends and the soothing heat of the fireplace combined with the fragrant aroma of freshly-brewed tea penetrated her battered defences and she let Kagome pull her to the floor, gratefully accepting a cup of steaming hot tea. Goodness knew she needed the time to think of a way to tell Miroku she was sorry and make sure he listened.

* * *

She knew it was quite late by the time Kagome and Shippou finally let her go back to the hut from the number of stars strewn across the night sky, like a spilled box of beads. Miroku had not yet returned and she was becoming anxious.

Sango was about to lift the door hanging when she heard Miroku's voice. For an instant, anger boiled in her gut: that lecherous monk must have found a girl to accompany him. Holding her temper in check, she strained to listen and found he was talking to himself.

Or rather, carrying on a one-sided conversation.

"You're a lucky man, Kohaku," sighed the monk. "Sango loves you more than anything else – I won't pretend it doesn't hurt."

Her breath caught in her throat. It was true, now that she thought of it. She was always choosing Kohaku over him. It must have affected him badly but Miroku never let it show, shrugging it off with a smile and a grope. All feelings of sympathy inevitably fled Sango's mind instantly.

"I can't very well be envious of you, though. You've had a far worse time of it than I ever had."

The single lantern beside Kohaku's head illuminated her fiancé's face, giving it a tranquil cast. He was smiling.

"Come back to her. She needs you."

Miroku gave the boy's hair a last affectionate ruffle and was about to leave when he felt strong, warm arms embrace his shoulders.

"… Sango?"

Warm tears dropped on his neck.

"I'm sorry… Miroku."

He took her small hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her palms, not letting on the fact his heart skipped a beat when she said his name.

Just his name, without any titles or honorifics.

Miroku tried to speak but could not: a large and unpleasant lump had formed in his throat.

"It's alright," he croaked out eventually – since when had his voice become so soft? – and ran his fingers along her arms. He had the sneaking feeling she had overhead him talking to Kohaku: his Sango was not normally given to spontaneous affection.

"I've hurt you, haven't I?" Sango asked bitterly. "I'm sorry."

"You could never do anything that would truly hurt me," he replied, curling an arm around her waist, forcing her to let go of his shoulders and allow herself to be eased into his lap. Miroku's lip twitched. "Apart from telling me the engagement's off, of course."

She giggled. Trust her monk to make jokes at a time like that.

They fell silent. Miroku brought his hand up to her face, the tips of his fingers gently brushing away the still-wet tracks of tears.

It still felt strange, to see the unblemished palm, a little soft and pale from years of concealment. As the said palm began to caress her cheek, Sango amazed herself the way her mind could think of nothing but how odd the sensation of skin on skin was.

"Yes, I agree: it feels different. Much better."

She blinked, snapping her brain out of the fog. "What?"

He drew back his hand and held it in front of her nose, fingers spread. Miroku gave the digits a little wiggle.

"Not having the prayer beads and glove in the way all the time of this." The monk replaced the hand on her cheek.

Sango gave a strained laugh. "Miroku," she said a little weakly, "have you learned how to read minds?"

"Would it be so bad if I did?" he shot back, a merry twinkle in his eyes. "You don't tell me everything without me having to painstakingly coax it out of you first." She sighed – partly in grudging acknowledgement, partly because she was so comfortable – and leaned into him, angling her face to look at the unmoving form of her brother. The monk caught the shift in her train of thought and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly.

"It'll be alright," he whispered in her ear. "Kohaku will wake up soon and you'll have your brother back."

Sango bit her lower lip. "I know." She felt annoying prickles of tears starting again. For someone as strong as herself, the slayer wondered why one word, a mention of a person or even just a negative thought could always bring her dangerously close to tears.

Miroku sighed softly, wiping the moistness from the corner of her eyes. "Why is it every time you let me come this close, you're always crying? It's not me, is it?"

She rubbed fiercely at the offending tears with her sleeve. "No, it's not. It's me."

The monk chuckled and held her closer. "I wonder why I ever fell for you. Perhaps I have a weakness for crying beauties."

"And I for lecherous monks."

"Touché," he answered, slowly disentangling her fingers from his robes. "It's late – we both need to sleep, especially you," he said in response to her confused glance. Miroku shot her a firm look which let her know he had not forgotten their argument earlier on.

She hardened her own jaw in response, moving fluidly to her feet and crossing the room. "Don't just stand there, help me, Houshi-sama," called Sango, unconsciously slipping back into habit, sliding open a door and removing bundles of bedding. She missed Miroku's wince as the now-unwanted title grated on his ears.

He held out his arms rather reluctantly – and was promptly deluged by a mini-mountain of bedding. "That's yours," she pointed out, emerging from another mountain she held. "Good night, Houshi-sama."

"Wait!" he protested as she knelt down and laid out her futon. "Shouldn't we be sharing a futon?"

Sango placed a free hand on her hip and shot him a withering glare. "Don't push it."

"Ah," he said, backing away rapidly. "Yes, yes, it's better this way."

She huffed, arranging the bedding loosely, lying down and closing her eyes, feeling fatigue already tugging at her body. She was dimly aware of a rustling sound from her side but chose to ignore it as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and early and a few rays of sunlight fell upon the occupants of the room. Sango woke gradually, feeling refreshed. It had been too long since she had slept so soundly and it felt good.

Warm breath tickling the back of her neck made her body go rigid, instantly awake. Not to mention a warm something _else_ around her waist…

"Houshi-sama?!"

He was still asleep, one arm thrown carelessly over her hips. His fingertips grazed – _were they touching skin?_ – her stomach, sending white-hot stirrings through her gut. With much difficulty, Sango squirmed out of his loose grasp and sat bolt upright, blushing furiously.

"Houshi-sama, wake up!"

Miroku snorted and opened bleary eyes. "Sango? What…"

"Why are you sleeping next to me?" she asked hotly, fighting back the red-hot blush. "And pray tell, monk, do you have any idea why I woke up this morning to find your hand on my waist?!"

He shrugged.

"Instinct? Anyway, I don't recall you saying anything about where I could put my futon – "

"You pervert!"

Her hand flashed out and connected with his face, the force of the blow sending him right back into his pillow.

"Ouch! Such violence is uncalled for," he commented, rubbing the fresh welt.

"Can you imagine how I felt, waking up to find that hand of yours… well, _there_?!" she huffed, not easily placated.

"I most certainly can."

Sango growled. Miroku was only saved from what looked like certain death by Kagome's timely popping in.

"Good morning!" she said brightly, the smile slipping somewhat as she took in the tableau.

"Miroku-sama, up to your antics again?" said the schoolgirl with some exasperation, her visions of wedding bells drifting a little further away.

He responded with a jaunty wave.

"Out," ordered Sango, pointing one finger at the door menacingly. "Now." He did not need telling twice, taking up his shakujou and disappearing with Kagome in a flash.

Despite his antics, Sango had to admit she was feeling much better than she had in days: she had gotten a good night's sleep, Miroku had made her laugh, he had been dutifully making sure she ate well… and although she would never admit it to him, she had enjoyed waking up next to him that morning. Though she would rather die than tell him her true response to his wandering hand.

Her smile slipped a little as she remembered the other sleeping occupant of the hut.


	3. Three: Awakening

He had been dormant for so long – lost in his own world, in the confines of his body. Kohaku felt no urge to leave his sanctuary. The world outside he remembered was cold and bleak, holding only blood, pain and suffering for him.

This new world was gray, featureless landscapes stretching out as far as the eye could see, covered with mist. It was a gloomy place but it suited Kohaku just fine: no blood, no screaming, no pain. Just peace.

Sometimes (just to liven up the tranquil days), she would come to him, the beautiful girl with long brown hair and eyes. She always smiled but never spoke – he had tried to get her to talk, with no success. These days, he contented himself with his favorite pastime: look at her and try to remember where he had seen her before.

He never asked her name – what was the point, seeing as he had no name of his own to share with her? "We can be nameless together," he said happily and she smiled. Kohaku was certain her smile had widened a fraction: she was a good friend. (She never judged.)

When Kohaku was in a good mood, he would make up all sorts of wild stories about her: he was a prince, she his princess, trapped by a demon waiting for him to rescue her; she was his betrothed, lost to him by magic and treachery; once, even they were comrades and lovers, battling evil demons side by side. (He wished they were true.)

It made him happy, making up all the memories to fill the bleak days.

Occasionally, he felt the prickle in his soul, a call of some sort. He ignored it; it was undoubtedly from the real world, wanting him to rejoin it.

_Why bother? I'm happy here. I'm not dead – but I want to be._

Kohaku told her about the summons; she smiled in return. She smiled only for him.

One fine day, he felt himself lighter than usual; he told her so. She smiled back – and vanished before his eyes. Before Kohaku could react, he felt the tugging in his soul, pulling him away from his world.

As he fell, the image of the girl was being pulled from his mind. Vainly, desperately, he fought to hold on to it but at last it slipped through his fingers. Kohaku made a plea to whoever was there.

_Please – let me see her again!_

* * *

Kohaku tried to move but winced as pain shot through his muscles. _That's the last straw – I am _never_ letting Ane-ue take me out for some special training again._

The boy tried to follow up with that thought but it felt like water, slipping through his helpless fingers.

_Who's Ane-ue? What training? More importantly, who am I?_

Soon, he could not even recall the original thought. His brain felt strangely light.

_Where am I?_

"Kohaku?"

A voice calling. Who was this Kohaku? The boy's eyes snapped open to investigate and found a pair of eyes hovering over him. A girl was leaning over his prone body.

"H – hello," he croaked in an unused voice. "Where am I?"

She smiled, tears of joy in her eyes – and Kohaku felt a bolt of pain sear through his skull. He knew her from somewhere but he just could not place her. "Kohaku – you're awake!" Brown hair obscured his vision; she had flung her arms around his neck, hot tears soaking the blanket. His eyes widened – why was this strange girl hugging him? Did they know each other?

"Oh," she murmured inaudibly, pulling away from him, leaving the lingering scent of jasmine. The girl wiped her face with the heel of her hand, struggling to compose herself. "I'm sorry. I was so worried…"

"Um." Kohaku opened his mouth to say something but stopped. "Where is this?"

"Kaede-sama's hut. You're safe now. Naraku's dead." The girl put out her hand to brush the hair from his eyes and he blushed. She had nice hands; soft and smooth, the touch comforting. The calloused tips of her fingers gave her an earthy beauty.

"I see. Thank you for saving me."

A mewing, and then a ball of cream fur attacked him, nuzzling his face, tails whirling excitedly.

"What – ?"

The girl laughed and gently pried his attacker off: he saw a beautiful cat with vivid red eyes. "Kirara, stop it. You're scaring him."

"Is that her name?"

He put out his hand and stroked the soft fur: Kirara purred and arched her back. Something told him it was more than an ordinary cat but his heart told him he could trust it.

"She's our companion."

He frowned in confusion. "Our?"

Something flickered in those lovely brown eyes. "You – don't remember me?"

Kohaku shook his head – _was he supposed to?_ – the best he could without driving any more needles into his brain.

"This is the first time we've met, ma'am," he said as politely as he could. Behind her head, he saw the cat slip out the door.

"I see." The warmth had dissipated from her voice and she looked away. Kohaku felt instantly guilty; he must have upset her somehow. For some reason, hurting her hurt him as well.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

The girl looked back at him, offering him a smile, but it was a pale shadow of the one before. Now that the boy's head was not hurting as much as earlier, he could see more of her. _She was pretty – no, beautiful, _he thought. _I know her – I've seen her before._

He wanted to ask her more but a niggling thought at the back of his mind surfaced. "Just now – you said Kohaku. Is that my name?"

"You don't remember anything at all?"

"No. The last thing I remember was… blood. Screams." Shivers shook the boy's spine. "Then nothing."

"Do you remember your family? Your friends?"

"No, nothing." Thinking hurt his brain; he sent a silent plea to her, begging her not to continue her inquisition.

She shifted. "… I see. Rest now, you've been sleeping for the better part of a week and you're not fully recovered yet."

"My name," he pressed her, "is my name Kohaku?"

"Yes."

"Kohaku," he murmured. "What is your name? Will you tell me more?"

The girl bowed her head, rising to her feet. "I am Sango. We will talk more later."

The boy watched her leave, pushing aside the bamboo curtain of the hut. _Sango… _The name triggered flashes here and there from his broken memory: fighting, a demon cat, her tears…

He had known Sango before the accident which had robbed him of his memories. Her face was one intimately familiar to him.

* * *

Miroku was waiting for her outside. His face took on a sober cast upon seeing the expression on Sango's own. The monk limped over to her, using his shakujou as a crutch; the wounds he had received in the final battle were acting up again.

"What happened?" he asked quietly the moment she drew close to him.

"He's awake… but his memory's totally gone," she answered in the faintest whisper. "He doesn't even remember his own name."

"Sango." Miroku brought up his hand, staying the bitter tears of disappointment before they had a chance to fall. The slayer leaned into his warmth.

"Give him time. I'm sure he will recover and then it will be as though he never left."

"I hope so, Houshi-sama. I've waited so long for this day…" Her voice caught in her throat and she did not trust herself to say any more.

He understood, merely opening his arms and wrapping her in them. Sango clung to him as though he was the rock in the middle of a storm, her shoulders quivering with emotion. Miroku rubbed his hands up and down her back, familiar with his usual role as her source of solace.

"You must be tired," he said softly after what seemed like an ample interlude. "You've been worrying yourself sick over Kohaku – now he's awake, you can sleep properly."

"Y – yes," she replied, withdrawing slightly from him. Sango did not bother to hide her anxiety from him; sometimes she felt as though this man knew her better than she knew herself. "You should get some sleep too, Houshi-sama – you've been watching over Kohaku as well."

"I had to," he admonished her gently, "otherwise you wouldn't even leave his side to eat."

Sango smiled wanly – damn him for always knowing how to cheer her up – and released him.

"Kagome and Inuyasha are at Kaede-dono's hut with Shippou and Kirara, let's join them."

She walked with him, both slightly unsteady from their battle wounds. Kohaku's hut was not very far from the old miko's, a gift from the villagers for saving the village on numerous occasions (it seemed they had overcome their initial distrust of Inuyasha). Light streamed from the windows and the gaps between the door hanging and the wall, making the hut warm and welcoming. Miroku held the curtain for Sango to pass through first before entering himself.

The others were seated around the low hearth; Kagome and Inuyasha arguing as usual, Shippou taking Kagome's side and getting pounded for his pains, Kirara and Kaede watching them with a detached, mildly amused air.

Everything halted when Miroku and Sango entered.

"Sango-chan!" Kagome hopped to her feet and seized her friend's hand, pulling her to the vacant seat beside her. "Kohaku-kun's awake?"

The older girl smiled a little, thrown off by her enthusiasm; after two years of traveling together, Kagome never failed to surprise her.

"Yes, but he's gone back to sleep." Sango wanted to tell them he had absolutely no memories but stopped, catching sight of the sea of smiling faces (minus Inuyasha's). Miroku sensed her hesitation, his hand finding hers and squeezing.

The girl from the future clapped her hands excitedly, beaming from ear to ear. "That's great! Oh, I can't believe I wasn't there to see it…"

The hanyou snorted, clearly not one for such naked joy. "Keh, finally. It's been long enough."

Once the fuss had died down somewhat, Kagome handed Sango and Miroku steaming bowls of ramen.

The slayer was finishing up the last of her noodles when she felt a small but insistent tugging at her sleeve.

"Shippou-chan?"

The little kitsune was looking up at her with an oddly grave expression on his face; her motherly instincts awakened, Sango was instantly alert.

"Sango… are you happy Kohaku's awake?"

The question unsettled her and she looked around the hut; the others, including Miroku, seemed to be deeply engrossed in conversation and oblivious to the pair of them.

Sango forced a smile to her face; it seemed to be getting harder and harder the more times she did it.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your smile." He looked solemnly at her. "It's the same smile Kagome told me I had after Hiten and Manten killed my Pa."

She crinkled her eyes, picking Shippou up and settling him in her lap. "Silly Shippou-chan," Sango said. "Of course I'm happy. I'm just still a little tired and worried." She had underestimated her little companion's astute emotional sensitivity.

The young fox demon smiled, apparently satisfied with her explanation. "Okay," he answered, clinging on to her kimono in a childish hug. Sango let him stay there; it was not often he came to her, preferring to go to Kagome instead. The girl from the future was currently ensconced in Inuyasha's arms.

_Goodness, he's so warm and soft – no wonder Kagome-chan always wants to hold him in her lap._ Looking down at the light brown hair, she could not help but to imagine holding her own future child like this.

"He must have been exhausted," commented Miroku, materializing at her elbow, smiling down at the sleeping Shippou.

"I guess," she said, stroking the kitsune's hair.

The monk must have been thinking among the same lines as she was: the warm expression took on a fatherly air. He settled for ruffling Shippou's hair before moving over to the other side of the fire to confer with Kaede.

Inuyasha and Kagome suddenly rose to go.

Before Sango could leave, Kaede beckoned her over, a solemn expression on her face. Miroku was equally grim.

"Kaede-sama?"

The elderly miko regarded her. "Have ye told Kohaku anything yet?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, apart from his name and mine."

"Good, good." Kaede patted her hand. "The houshi-dono and I both think ye should be sparing with bringing the lad up to date with what has been going on for the past three years."

"You don't mean – "

"Aye," she said. "Ye should not tell him everything immediately."

"But – "

Miroku had moved forward, clasping her hands in his. "Sango, Kaede-sama's right," he said softly. "We don't know how much of his memory Naraku's destroyed, plus… the last three years haven't been very… _pleasant_."

They were all silent, recalling the long-ago incident in which they had thought Kohaku freed from Naraku's control, minus his memories… only to be terribly disappointed.

The slayer nodded reluctantly. "I… understand."

"We should take it slowly from here on," concluded the elderly miko, prodding at the embers in the hearth with a poker.

"Maybe he will regain his memories on his own with time."

* * *

Kohaku was bored. He had slept for a while after Sango had left and upon waking up, found that she had yet to return.

The boy yawned and sat up, stretching long-unused limbs. They were not wasted; rather, they were covered with lean muscle without an ounce of excess flesh. Kohaku tested his legs: although somewhat unsteady, they bore his weight well. He was rather surprised to find marks of old wounds crisscrossing his arms and legs. Had he been a warrior? Not likely – a samurai was a veteran at thirty. He had gone through more battles than a samurai could hope to.

Come to think of it, Kohaku could not remember what he looked like, whether he was young or old. One hand came up and brushed shoulder-length hair, lank and unkempt. The other ran over his face, tracing the curves and dips of his skin; hollowed, gaunt cheeks.

He scowled: Sango had not even the decency to tell him any more about himself. Kohaku tottered over to the door of the hut and pushed aside the door hanging.

"Ah!"

Bright sunlight blinded him for a brief instant. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get them accustomed to the outside. He was in a village. Other identical huts were scattered here and there along rough semblances of roads.

Kohaku squinted up at the sky. Early afternoon – no doubt the villagers were out in the fields. The boy blinked suddenly and the thought slipped away.

_That's funny – I thought of something and it was gone. _He felt uneasy having nothing in his head: nothing but Sango's face and the memory of the conversation they had earlier.

He moved his feet, letting them take him out of the village. Green trees soon lined the road and he smiled for the first time since waking up, inhaling the fresh cool air.

A bubbling, rushing noise perked him up. Water… a nearby stream. He walked through the grass and found it soon enough. Kohaku knelt, scooping water between cupped hands and washing his face. The refreshing coolness cheered him and he drank a little.

When he had finished, he followed the stream down to a small pool and bent down, waiting for the water to settle. An image of a young boy appeared: for the briefest of instants, he was laughing. Kohaku shook his head; he must have been hallucinating. He knew he was frowning.

The image rippled slightly to show the same boy. No, not quite – the cheeks of the image were hollow, the face gaunt. The eyes were the most forbidding of all: they were empty, a man's eyes. A man who had killed and watched others being killed. Kohaku's mouth fell open slightly: the incongruous image of a boy with eyes so much older. He was a young man trapped in an aged man's body.

"Is that me?" The reflection lifted a hand to its face.

The man – boy no longer: there was no innocence in those eyes – abruptly plunged his hand into the water, disrupting the image.

Kohaku was distraught: the cold frankness of the eyes which had seen too much haunted his mind. Heart beating frantically, he scrambled back from the water's edge, away from that withered spectre.

A mew jolted him out of his thoughts. A cat – _Kirara_, he remembered – had appeared at the side of the clearing. She bounded right into his lap, her paws kneading his stomach.

"Kirara?" He rubbed her ears. "What're you doing here?"

"She was worried about you: so was Sango. You shouldn't wander off like that."

A smooth masculine voice. Unfamiliar. Kohaku looked up into warm violet eyes belonging to a tall handsome man dressed in the robes of a houshi, carrying a shakujou in one hand.

"I'm glad we found you quickly, Kohaku," said the man. "I sensed some demons around this area earlier and I hoped to reach you before they did."

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

He sat down cross-legged with some difficulty: Kohaku noticed his leg and arm were bandaged when his robes rode up as he lowered himself to the ground.

"I apologize. My name is Miroku and I'm a traveling monk."

"I see."

Kohaku looked the man up and down with a careful eye; he looked somewhat familiar. Those intelligent violet eyes drew his attention. The man bore the scrutiny with good grace before he pushed himself to his feet. The young man hastened to help him up.

"Thank you," said Miroku gratefully. "My wounds haven't recovered fully yet, as you see."

"You were injured in battle?"

His lip twitched. "You could say that, yes." The hand holding his shakujou shifted up the polished staff.

"We should be going back before Sango worries herself sick."

"Yes, Houshi-sama."

Kohaku offered his arm to the older man as they made their way back up, a kind offer which Miroku graciously declined.

"No offence, Kohaku, but it makes me feel old before my time," he smiled. "Foolish pride, I know."

They laughed together. Kohaku felt almost happy, with the sun warm on his face, a new friend who might supply his missing memories, a place he could call home.

"Kohaku!"

Sango was there, along with her friends; the miko in strange clothing, the hanyou, the kitsune and the elderly miko. She was running to him.

Kohaku stiffened, half-expecting her to fling her arms around him. But she stopped herself a scant heartbeat away, changing the gesture to a loose grip on his shoulders, as though she was afraid of breaking him.

"Where were you? I was worried sick! You can't just wander off alone like that – "

The boy held his tongue, willing himself not to snap at Sango, focusing on the hanyou in the background. The man was saying something to the young miko; from the stiffness of her back, it must have been something rude. The others seemed torn between defusing the situation between them and calming Sango down.

"Sango," interrupted the monk wearily. "Kohaku's back, nothing happened. Just leave it."

"I don't care! What if youkai had attacked you? If not for Houshi-sama – "

"I'm not an invalid!" Kohaku burst out violently. "Like you said, I've been bedridden for a week. I just wanted some fresh air."

Sango opened her mouth to argue, shocked at his sudden outburst. Before she could, Miroku stepped forward and took her wrist, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"Just leave it," he repeated into her ear.

She tightened her jaw resolutely, swallowing the rest of her argument with difficulty. "There's some soup if you're hungry," she addressed Kohaku in a calmer tone.

"I'm not hungry," he replied, equally as stubborn.

"Sango, you don't have to force Kohaku to eat if he doesn't want to; he's old enough to decide for himself."

"But – "

"It's okay," mumbled the young man, making them both turn to stare at him. "I'll eat it." He padded away into the kitchen in search of the pot and utensils. All the pent-up anger had left Kohaku; all he wanted now was just to be alone.

Sango watched him leave, the colour gradually draining from her lower lip as she bit it. The monk slid his hand down, his fingers entwining with hers; he knew the warning signs well.

"What's wrong?" he asked – _tell me what's bothering you_.

"Kohaku – he never lashed out like that before," she told him, a faint glistening of her eye revealing how close she was to tears. "Never."

"What if he's not the same Kohaku? What if he's… _changed_?"

Miroku pressed his lips together into a stark white line: he had the same guilty suspicions ever since Kohaku had woken up and unfortunately, he was now unable to dismiss them. He had hoped everything could be put behind them.

"Of course he's still your brother." He drew her closer with his free arm, his hand rubbing her back comfortingly, communicating his support wordlessly. "Remember, Kohaku spent nearly two years with his mind under Naraku's control; give him time. He still hasn't got back his memories as well, it's no wonder he's angry and confused."

He felt her relax against his body and smiled.

"You're right," Sango said decisively, the old confidence back in her voice. She pulled back from him, smiling up into Miroku's eyes. "Thank you, Miroku."

The slayer turned to go after Kohaku, leaving Miroku there. Once he was sure she had gone, the smile dropped from his face.

As much as he hated to admit it, Sango had a point there. He knew Kohaku to be a kind, sweet-natured, gentle boy from her stories of their childhood together: that outburst had been both impatient and short-tempered. It seemed more suited to Inuyasha than Sango's little brother.

He spent the rest of the evening out on the veranda; the sun set long before he finally went in. Sango was preparing her bed as Miroku entered the hut. She greeted him with a shy smile.

"Sango?"

"Mmm?" She was smoothing out the futon, engrossed with the voluminous fabric.

He rubbed the fine sprinkling of stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "I was thinking we should move back to your village soon; you said you wanted to rebuild it."

Sango dropped the pillow she was holding and slowly wheeled around. "Miroku…?"

Miroku smiled warmly. "There's nothing holding you back now: you and Kohaku can finally return home. It might be good for him to go back, the place might help trigger his memories."

He was expecting her to agree excitedly, start making plans, maybe even hug him gratefully: instead, Sango bit her lip, a pensive look on her face.

"It seems… a little sudden."

"Don't you want to go home?"

She tugged on the corner of the futon just so. "I do. It's just that – it's a little overwhelming. Not only for me, but for Kohaku as well. I… I just want him to be happy again, to see him smile the way he used to."

The young monk scooted over, placing his hand over hers. "I can't say whether it's the right thing to do either, but… I do think it's the best option we have now. Trust me," he added, catching the look on her face, "what could go wrong?"

The slayer stared hard into the middle distance before finally nodding. "We'll go in the morning." She did not look at him again after that, crawling underneath the futon and lying on her side, her back to him.

Miroku followed her movements with his eyes, a deep disappointment in them. Kohaku's condition was affecting his Sango adversely as well, not to mention his relationship with her. She rarely let him touch her – both lecherous in nature and otherwise – and she was always lost in thought.

There and then, he resolved to handle the situation – if there really was one – by himself, without letting Sango know. She had suffered enough for her brother's sake already.


	4. Four: Unwelcome News

Kohaku sat gingerly on the ground at the base of the tree and watched the bustling as Sango oversaw the packing – or rather, single-handedly commandeered the entire operation. Everyone, even Inuyasha, was careful to keep out of the demon slayer's way as she whirled in and out of the house, packing things. Miroku bore the brunt of her temper with his customary patience, following her dutifully wherever she stormed, various bundles and boxes in his arms.

Kohaku, wanting to be of use, had ill-advisedly picked up a bundle and was promptly attacked by Sango. In a wink of an eye, she had whisked it from his hands and chivvied him over to a nearby tree.

" – and don't you _dare_ move from this spot until I say so. You're not fully recovered yet, I don't want you injuring yourself again..." Miroku pulled a face behind the slayer's back as she rambled on, making Kohaku grin.

"Houshi-sama!" Sango growled, catching on; he intercepted her wrist inches away from his cheek. "Make yourself useful and tie the bedding on properly, look at it, it's _sagging_ – "

Finally, after much hassle, everything was done.

"I'm going to miss you all," said Kagome, her eyes moist, as she warmly embraced Sango.

The older girl laughed even though her own eyes were as watery. "Don't be silly, Kagome-chan, you can come and visit us anytime. It's not like we're going to be gone forever."

"Sango, Miroku, don't leave!" whined Shippou, hopping into her arms, wedging himself neatly between the women. "Stay here."

Miroku chuckled and ruffled his hair. "We'll miss you too, Shippou."

Inuyasha stood a little way off, his arms folded. "Keh," he growled. "What's all the fuss about? Sango's right, they're just going to the demon slayers' village to live. Stop acting like they're going to _die,_ wench."

Even as Kagome winced at her dog demon's blunt language, the slayer smiled knowingly and walking forward, threw her arms around the hanyou's neck. "We'll miss you too, Inuyasha."

He blushed as red as his clothes and awkwardly returned the hug.

Kagome, Shippou left in her arms, let the little kitsune hop over to Miroku and grabbed an embarrassed Kohaku. "I hardly even got to know you, Kohaku-kun, and Sango's taking you off," she protested half-heartedly.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes – even Miroku looked a little bemused. On the other hand, Sango surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

The boy patted the overcome schoolgirl's back; his eyes flicking left and right, searching for someone to relieve his discomfort. At last, Miroku took pity on Kohaku and came to the rescue; he placed a gentle but firm hand on Kagome's shoulders, squeezing until she regained her composure.

"We'll visit often," he told her. "I don't think all of us will be traveling much anymore."

She laughed, red-rimmed eyes filled with mirth. "You're right, Miroku-sama; I don't even know why I'm getting so upset."

The hanyou muttered something under his breath which the others did not catch, not being as blessed with extraordinary hearing as he was.

"The village isn't very far from here," noted Miroku, looking the over-stuffed wagon up and down. "There's no need to bring so much things with us; if we forgot something, we could always take Kirara back here."

Sango rounded on him, her eyes ablaze and he wisely decided not to say anything from then on. It was agreed that Miroku would go with the wagon while Sango and Kohaku rode Kirara to the village. ("It's been so long since you've flown with Kirara," said Sango, getting rapidly misty-eyed all over again.)

Kirara transformed and offered her back to him; Kohaku hesitated, taken aback by the massive size of her firecat form. The cat demon rumbled – a larger version of the tiny cat's purr – and he managed a smile, scratching her ears. Sango helped him clamber on the broad back, telling him in gentle tones where to hold on to the massive ruff of fur.

The young man ran his hand through the lush coat; eliciting more contented sounds from Kirara. After a quick conference with Miroku, Sango climbed on the cat demon's back behind Kohaku not long afterwards and they took off.

He cried out in alarm when Kirara bounded into the air in one powerful movement; the muscles rippled beneath his flanks and Kohaku's hands fisted in the silky fur. Sango's arms around his waist were somewhat calming and he eventually relaxed.

Kohaku watched with fascination as the verdant countryside melted and blurred into splashes of colour, the wind howling in his ears. Great crests of flame dancing around Kirara's feet seemed not to hurt him and he laughed aloud, giddy with delight. Behind him, the slayer smiled. Far below, the young man could just barely make out Miroku's form with the wagon on the dirt path winding through the green wood.

"We're so high up!" he yelled over the wind, little-boy's excitement taking away his natural reticence.

"Do you want to go higher?"

He nodded eagerly; Kirara bounded through the clouds and headed for the sun. Blue mountains beckoned in the far distance, by now themselves reduced to anthills. Kohaku shivered, both from the cold and from the thrill of the ride.

At last, with his curiosity satiated, Sango reluctantly nudged the firecat down in the direction of their destination; she loved to fly almost as much as Kirara – and it appeared – Kohaku did. But the sun was getting low in the sky and it would be dark soon. Miroku should be already approaching the village.

She felt Kohaku pat her hand excitedly. "Sango-sama, look!"

Inclining her face past his, she gazed at the far-off horizon: the sun was beginning its nightly dip into the valley beyond the mountains, the red-orange light bathing everything in its warm glow.

Kirara paused in her descent, tails swishing behind her. The scenery took on a whole new beauty with its themes of red, orange and yellow: like a painting, the clouds echoed the dying light. Kohaku drank it all in, saving the sunset in his memory the way a child secrets away a shiny pebble.

Only when the sun had sank completely below the horizon did Kirara leap away, rushing down towards the tiny plateau on which perched the remnants of a people. The firecat touched down gracefully in the centre of the ruined village. Sango was the first to hop off, her eyes cloudy with memory.

"You certainly took your time in getting here," remarked Miroku cheerfully. He had his sleeves tied back as he unloaded the wagon, a growing pile of bundles appearing beside him. "Have fun?"

The last question was directed at Kohaku; the boy nodded shyly as he slid off Kirara's back. Sango smiled at them both and tying back her own sleeves, she threw herself into the work of unpacking the wagon. Kohaku – again expressly forbidden to help – waited patiently for them to finish, Kirara curled up in his lap.

Miroku came over and eased the mound of cloth from her hands. "I can handle the load just fine," he said. "Why don't you take a break?" He stared deep into her eyes, cutting her protests off before she could even voice them. Once the monk was certain he had her full attention, he glanced significantly over at the surreptitiously nodding pair.

She smiled; a gentle, motherly smile. Walking over to Kohaku and Kirara, she lightly tapped the young man's shoulder and he shot upright.

"You must be tired," said Sango softly. "Are you hungry?" He shook his head. Taking the bedding from the pile, she carried it into the house for him.

Kohaku was sound asleep the instant his head hit the pillow; Kirara was curled up on his belly, nose tucked in her tails. The slayer pulled up the blankets and went outside to join her fiancee.

Miroku had made a makeshift campfire from a few discarded logs and was busily boiling water for the instant ramen Kagome had thoughtfully added to the baggage.

"Kohaku's not eating?" he asked as she sat down.

"He's too tired." She gratefully held out her bowl for the hot water and replaced the lid to let the noodles cook.

As they ate, he noticed she hardly touched the noodles. "Sango, is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing," she sighed. He raised an eyebrow.

She relented, putting down the half-eaten bowl. "It's just... I haven't come back in such a long time. And now, we're here to stay. You, me, Kirara and Kohaku." Sango rested her weight on her hands, leaning back. "I never thought I'd see the day we'd come home."

"We've come home," repeated Miroku. She gave him a shy smile and scooted over to rest her head on his shoulder.

Kohaku woke early the next morning, disturbed by Kirara's morning stretch. He yawned widely; the morning air was crisp and cold.

When he ventured outside, Sango and Miroku were already there, busying themselves with rebuilding the headman's house.

She saw him as he approached; Sango put down the beam she was carrying and waved. "Good morning! Sleep well?"

He nodded dumbly, settling down to watch them both haul wood. It seemed she was equally as strong, if not stronger than the monk; Sango easily hefted timber as though the weight was nothing.

When they took a break for breakfast (some more of Kagome's ramen, since neither Sango nor Miroku felt like cooking), Kohaku began to warm up over hot tea and the steaming bowl of tasty, strange noodles.

"Where is this, Sango-sama?" he asked after they had finished eating. Fascinated by the level of emotion demonstrated by the women the day before, he had been expecting a grand castle or something of equal grandeur. The crumbling surroundings and cloying smell of decay was hardly the kind of place he had in mind.

She smiled and stood up, taking his hand. "Let me show you." She began to lead him over to the quieter side of the ruined village, where the graves were. Miroku watched them go, deciding to give the siblings some time alone together.

"Well, Kirara," he said, bending down and petting the little cat demon. "Are you going to show me around your village proper or are you going to help me with the work?"

* * *

Two spots of colour appeared high on Kohaku's cheeks as he allowed himself to be pulled along. This girl – Sango – was holding his hand. He was taller than she was, his slightly larger hand grasping her delicate one loosely and her forwardness unsettled him.

She brought him to a quiet part of the ruins, beside the rotting palisade wall. The ground here was uneven, with regular mounds arranged in a row. _A graveyard…_

A sharp bolt of pain lanced through his skull. Wincing, Kohaku dropped to one knee, both hands supporting his head.

"Kohaku?" Sango placed her hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "What's wrong?"

"I… I know this place," he choked out. "I've seen it before, but I can't remember anything else!" Wild eyes stared around and he abruptly whirled around, gripping her arms. Sango cried out in pain. "Why can't I remember anything? Why?"

"Kohaku," she whispered, gently easing her hands out of his suddenly slack grip and drawing him into a hug. "It's alright now. I'm here."

The boy clutched the front of her kimono, sobbing softly. He let his mind go blissfully blank – thinking caused too much pain.

He hated this – living in the dark. He remembered absolutely nothing about his past; only vague flashes of memory teasing him. The one thing that stayed constant was Sango. Beautiful Sango. She was always there, always so sad but he had no idea _why_ –

"Kohaku?" She peered down at him, concern in her soft brown eyes.

"Sango-sama… tell me everything about myself. I want to know."

She bit her lip; the gesture both tantalized and worried him. "Kohaku…"

Anger flared. "Why won't you tell me? Am I supposed to live like this?"

"No, it's not that – "

He pushed her away roughly and got to his feet, ignoring the hurt in her face. Not knowing what to do next, the boy walked over to the graves.

They all had no stone marker – an oddity – as he knew they were customary. Instead, broken weapons lay over each mound, distinguishing each occupant from the other.

Kohaku dropped to his knees in front of one makeshift marker, a shaking hand reaching out to touch the odd-looking scythe on one grave. The wooden handle had rotted away long ago but the blade still gleamed; curving lines frozen in steel he felt an instant affinity with.

"That's where Yoichi-sensei is buried," came Sango's soft voice from behind him. "He was a master of the kusari-gama – he used to teach you before Chichi-ue took over from him after he retired. He made yours for you."

The pain stabbed at his head again. Names… they triggered fleeting glimpses of a past which lay locked away from him. If only it would not hurt so much…

"Kusari… gama?"

"Your weapon." She was nearer to him now. "You and I, Kohaku… we're the last of our tribe of demon slayers."

"Demon slayers." That made sense – the weaponry was too stylized to belong to mercenaries or samurai. It explained the neglected ruins this place was. He could tell it used to be a thriving village until someone or something had destroyed it.

He had to ask. "What are we, Sango?"

Slowly, he shifted on his knees to face her. Sango smiled wistfully, reaching out to smooth his hair.

"You're my little brother, Kohaku."

"Ane-ue…"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Crushing disappointment filled his chest. Of course they were siblings – would she have cared so devotedly for him otherwise? As Kohaku struggled to comprehend the bombshell she had dropped on him, he was surprised to find guilt mixed in with the other emotions.

The affection he felt for her was anything but brotherly.

But now he knew better. He would not make the same taboo mistake again…

* * *

Sango helped him pay his respects to the dead, naming each grave in turn and telling him a little about the person each had been. Kohaku found his mind drifting after the first handful – he felt nothing for these lumps of soil and bone. They were once alive and now were dead. He was – _is_ – alive. The dead would never return to the world of the living, so what good did it do him to know their names?

He let his sister ramble on, plastering a polite smile of mild interest on his face. She was happy with her memories. That was all that mattered. If his existence as an empty shell hurt her, Kohaku was all for making her smile in any way he could.

"Sango, Kohaku, are you two there?"

The boy turned. The handsome monk – Miroku, his name – was approaching, Kirara padding at his heels.

Sango paused mid-narration, greeting him with a warm smile. There was an familiarity – affection – in that smile which the young boy suddenly wished he saw when she looked at him.

He knew there was something more than friendship between his sister and the monk. Although Sango had never explicitly told him, it showed in her interactions with him; the smiles, the knowing looks, the way their bodies seemed to touch in the smallest of ways.

"Houshi-sama," said Kohaku politely. Kirara mewed and rubbed against his ankles.

The man graced him with a cheerful grin.

"Please, Kohaku, call me Miroku. Kami knows, it took me two years to get your sister to stop calling me by my title."

Sango blushed and smacked him playfully.

Kohaku pretended he did not see the fond look that passed between them, bending down to scratch Kirara's head.

"Sango, I've found a box of tools in one of the huts," Miroku said excitedly. "Before nightfall, I could have your house habitable."

"And since when were you so adept in repair work?" she responded in a teasing tone. "Let me do it, I know my way around tools."

He grinned. "A woman of many talents. You never fail to amaze me, my lovely Sango. Perhaps you know more tricks to do with beds."

"Pervert." Torn between amusement and annoyance, she shot a quick glance at Kohaku. "Not in front of Kohaku."

He let them be, walking off on his own towards what used to be the village centre. A soft mewing sound at his ankles told him that little cat was following him. The young boy soon reached the square. The soil was still dark with traces of blood here and there. The ragged, bare patches where grass stubbornly refused to grow told him where demon blood had been spilled.

Kohaku barely gave the area a second look, letting his feet take him elsewhere.

He found himself outside the palisade, walking the winding path around the mountain down to the forest below.

"Kohaku?"

Sango had already noticed his absence and called after him, her improperly-bound sandals slapping against the bottoms of her feet. He responded with a wave.

"I'm alright, I'm just going for a walk."

"Be back by sunset. Kirara, go with him."

The firecat mewed.

The boy set his jaw, feeling a small spike of anger. Really, he was old enough not to need a babysitter. He wondered whether she had been as overprotective of him when they lived in the village.

The thought would have to go unanswered of course: the memories were long gone. They had been since the day the band of slayers had been called to Kagewaki's castle.

He let his anger slide, breaking into a smooth run. For now, it felt good to be carefree, with the wind in his ears and the sun warm on his skin.

Kirara, ever the perceptive one, sensed her companion's change in mood and quickened her pace to match his.

Finally, Kohaku reached the stream he had seen while they were traveling here on Kirara's back. He sat by the limpid water, running a hand in it. His feline companion settled in his lap, wide eyes watching the dark shadows darting through the water not far from Kohaku's fingers.

"They're keeping something from me, Kirara," he said at length. "I can see it in the looks they exchange. Even back in the other village, the hanyou and the miko, they all knew me."

She blinked and mewed, nose thrusting against his arm. His free hand came up to tease her fur.

"Even you. I seem to know you from somewhere in my past – I know all of them – but I can't remember anything, only Sango's face."

Kohaku pulled his hand from the water and ran the wet fingers through his hair: the cool water felt good on his scalp.

"She said she's my sister. My Ane-ue. But I don't think of her as that. Is that wrong?"

The boy frowned. He hated being kept in the dark.

_What if they're lying? What if they're keeping something important from me?_ The dark thought wormed its way into his thoughts abruptly; he burned with shame for even daring to think such a thing.

"We should go back. Don't want to keep Ane-ue and Houshi-sama waiting."

The cat leapt neatly from his lap and bounded over to the path, looking back over her shoulder to make sure he was following. The boy walked slowly this time, all the nervous energy gone from his small frame.

Light shone from the village: the sun was already halfway down the horizon by the time Kohaku had climbed the hill and entered the gate.

The largest hut in the village was lit up and he heard their voices from inside.

He slid open the sliding door. "I'm back."

"Kohaku!" Sango appeared from one of the rooms, the sleeves of her kimono tied back neatly with a length of cloth. She had bound her hair as well – he wondered whether she knew how motherly she looked like at that moment. "Just in time – I've prepared dinner. Houshi-sama is in the dining room, go on in."

He obeyed, walking into the room. Miroku was seated there, holding a cup of tea in his hands. He greeted the monk politely and sat diagonally opposite him.

"Did you enjoy your walk?"

Kohaku shot a discreet sideways glance at the older man: he appeared genuinely interested, the hot tea steaming gently.

"It was alright, Houshi-sama. Hot, though."

He sighed. "Just Miroku. Honestly, I get your sister to start calling me by my name and the moment you wake up, you send her back to square one." The monk winked at him suddenly from over the rim of his teacup. "No offence, though."

Kohaku felt a tiny surge of dislike.

Just then, Sango appeared, carrying various bowls and plates of food. Both Miroku and Kohaku rose immediately to help her and were promptly sent away to fetch utensils and other necessities from the kitchen.

She had cooked a lavish feast – "To celebrate our return home," she explained – with fish, pickled radish, roots and even some more of the strange food from Kagome's time, though there were none of the salty noodles they had for breakfast. Kohaku gave the latter a wide berth, sticking to the foods he was more familiar with. Tasty as the weird food was, he preferred the familiar old dishes.

"The food is excellent, Sango," complimented Miroku, his chopsticks reaching for another morsel. "Now why couldn't you have cooked like this while we were on our travels? Has Kagome-sama finally deigned to teach you some of her secrets?"

She laughed and swatted at him. "Houshi-sama, you flirt. You know very well Inuyasha doesn't like well-seasoned food – the exception being ramen – so we deliberately make the food a little bland. And well, if we are to be married, I think I should learn to take care of the house."

"Ah." He made a serious face.

Kohaku's face was white, the mouthful of rice he was in the middle of swallowing stuck in his throat.

"Married?" His voice was tight and the jovial mood in the room immediately died away.

Sango looked panicked, while Miroku's face was calm. "We may have neglected to tell you earlier, Kohaku – I'm sorry you had to know this way. I asked your sister to marry me – once Naraku is dead and you had returned to her a year ago – and she accepted."

The boy forced a smile: something he found himself doing a lot ever since he woke up. "Congratulations," he managed.

The serious look stayed on the monk's features. "Kohaku – I promise you I will look after Sango for the rest of our lives. I love her."

A shadow passed over the younger man's face. "How much more are you keeping from me?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I know you're not telling me everything," Kohaku repeated. "Ever since I've been awake, everyone has been treading around me cautiously as though I would break. Even you, Ane-ue. I can see it in your eyes: you fear me. You fear this empty shell."

Sango let out a choked sob. "Kohaku, that's not true."

"Prove it."

They could not meet his eyes. It was all the proof he needed.

"I'm going for a walk. Don't follow me."

"Kohaku, don't – " Sango made to reach for him; she stumbled and he moved out of reach.

"Please – " He ignored the pain of his heart hammering in his chest – he made her cry, it hurt him that she was crying over him – and walked away in long strides. The boy had no idea where he was going, as long as he was gone.

The young slayer's skills were no match for his sister's: she was behind him without him noticing, her arms around his body. Kohaku froze.

"Kohaku, please don't go. I'm sorry."

He stood rigidly, allowing himself to be embraced but not responding in any other way.

Miroku was there too, standing a little way off from the siblings. "Kohaku, I know you're angry with us but forgive us – we were only trying to do what we thought was right."

_Kohaku. Kohaku. Kohaku. Who is he? Why do you keep calling his name? He is not me. I am nobody. A shadow with no memories._

The boy felt Sango's grip on his shoulders slacken a fraction and he took the opportunity to ease her arms away.

"I will stay," he said quietly; his breath rustling her fringe and drying her tears.

She engulfed him in a massive hug, mouthing garbled apologies, sheer gratitude in her voice. The words ran together uselessly in his ears, degenerating into meaningless sounds.

_I do not stay for the reasons. I stay for you. _

Kohaku's arms came up to hold his sister's shoulders; her skin was warm and vital under his hands. Hands that have touched death. Her hair smelt good. He closed his eyes and pretended she was his. Sango seemed to take his touch as acceptance of her apology and her grip on him tightened.

She was his, true enough – but at the same time, no longer. She was betrothed to the monk. Sango could not be his sister and Miroku's wife at the same time.

Finally, Sango pulled away and he let her. Miroku came up from behind, offering his comfort in the form of a warm hand on her shoulder.

"It's late, Kohaku," he said. "Come in and sleep."

The young man nodded. When he made no other move, Sango raised a tentative hand as though afraid to touch him. Slowly, the tips of her fingers came closer, grazing the skin of his wrist. Kohaku shuddered involuntarily. The simple contact reminded him of something else: the cold prick of a sharp object being inserted into his unresisting flesh...

He allowed his sister to take his hand and bring him in. Her fingers were curled loosely around the delicate ring of his wrist; the young man briefly worried it was too bony.

Miroku, thankfully, said nothing else to him, leaving the hut shortly after with a mumbled excuse. It was just him, Sango and Kirara together. As it had always been – and he hoped always would be.

She was unable to look him in the eye; he sat on top of the blankets, one leg tucked under his body. Kirara went between the two, her tails drooping from the emotion running high.

"Kohaku – "

He firmed his jaw. Part of him wanted to accept her apologies, acknowledge he had been wrong in lashing out at her. She deserved a little happiness, like all humans. The other part wanted to stew in his selfishness.

He chose the coward's way out. "I'm tired, Ane-ue. Can we talk tomorrow?"

Sango's face sagged: though there was a little spark of hope when he called her that. "Of course, Kohaku. Good night."

He snuggled down under the thick blankets and waited for her footsteps to echo away; when he sneaked over to the window later, he saw her and the monk deep in conversation outside.

Kohaku felt a twinge of guilt when the firelight caught her the tears on her face; he so hated it when she cried, even worse when he was the cause of it. Miroku hardly said, his eyes speaking volumes for him.

He had to turn away when she buried her face in the monk's robes, his arms wrapped around her back.

Late that night, the boy lay awake and listened to the gentle sounds of his new-found family breathing. A tiny pang tugged at him: it hurt him she had not waited for him, she had found another man to turn to. Was she not his sister? No – she was mother and sister together. Had she not raised him after the death of their birth mother while giving him life?

A wry smile crept over his face. Kohaku had been marked with death – ironically enough – while entering life. Death surrounded him; death was a part of his soul.

In that same way, Sango was life. She lived for herself and him; she lived for revenge. Now, she lived for the future.

There was a beautiful symmetry in their lives, he mused, turning over in bed. The bedding was uncomfortable and he sat up. His sister lay on her side away from him, lips parted slightly.

Behind her on a separate futon – he guessed it was because of his outburst earlier – lay the monk. His hand was outstretched towards her as was her hand; it looked as though they had fallen asleep holding hands. The thought made him feel lonely.

In sleep, Sango's face was calm and relaxed; she looked her age – like a big sister – instead of the pseudo-mother she was towards him.

The detachment in his eyes softened; he was home.

"Ane-ue," he whispered. They were together – despite being not _together_ – and that was what really mattered.


	5. Five: Unraveling the Spider's Web

He rose from the bed the moment he heard birdsong; sleep had been hard to come by. Sango was still sound asleep and he had no wish to disturb her, so he crept out.

The morning air was crisp and refreshing, like sleep was not. Kohaku felt happy to be able to enjoy the moment.

"Kohaku?"

He whirled around. "Ane-ue – did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"Not at all – Kohaku, we're demon slayers," she said with a slight smile. "We sleep light."

Kohaku's shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. "Oh." Somehow, she made him feel acutely self-concious.

She reached for his hand – seemingly ignorant of the effect she was having on him. "Listen, I've been thinking."

"Yes?"

"Last night… you were right." Sango sighed, pursing her lips. "It was wrong of us – _me_ – to keep the truth from you. I'm sorry."

"No, don't be," Kohaku hastily muttered, flaming crimson. "_I'm_ sorry, I shouldn't have said those… _things_."

His sister laughed suddenly. "You remind me of me. Miroku says I'm always apologizing for everything even though it isn't my fault."

His immediate response was to stick out his lower lip;though he had not been awake very long, he already knew it was rare to see her in a playful mood and it made him happy. "So that's where I get it from."

Kohaku gave a snarl and pretended to chase her around, hands taut, mimicking claws as she squealed.

"Demon!"

Laughing, he gave chase to Sango and they ran across the village, out the gate and down the path Kohaku had trod yesterday. Finally, tiring of the hunt, he leapt and seized her around the middle, bringing them both tumbling in the grass.

"Cheater," she breathed in between gasps for air. He laughed.

They lay like that, sprawled in the tall grass by the wayside, looking up at the blue sky. He was not sure why, but the feeling of prickly grass against his skin soothed him.

Kohaku sat up, picking some dirt off the back of his short kimono, grimacing at the brownish stains they left behind. Sango drew her knees up to her chin, an absent smile on her face as she watched him.

"You're getting tall," she commented: the hem of her brother's kimono ended mid-thigh now. His broadening shoulders jutted awkwardly from the sleeveless top. "Remind me to adjust that for you. No – I'll sew you a new kimono. This one's too worn."

"You sew?" The playful light was still in his eyes.

"Yes, Miroku taught me while we were on our quest." Sango dropped her eyes, studying the grass closely.

A silence followed, one punctuated by the occasional murmuring gust of wind. Kohaku plucked at the grass.

"Ane-ue?"

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me everything that happened? I want to know."

Sango took a deep breath. "Everything?"

He mimicked her sitting position, wrapping his arms around his legs, resting his chin on the tops of his knees. "I – These few days since I've been awake, I've been… remembering. I don't recall much – " he added quickly, catching the look on her face " – but I know a little from our childhood, our life in the village…"

"Until when?"

"Until that day we were summoned to the castle – Chichi-ue, you, me and the others. I remember pain and then… nothing."

Sango wore a strange half-smile. "Well. I'll be brief. The lord was already dead – he was being controlled by Naraku to lure us away from the village and kill us all."

"So Naraku killed them all except for you and I?"

A flicker passed over her face – he could have sworn it was hesitation. "Yes," she said firmly. "But he had enslaved your mind and kept you as his servant. I escaped and eventually traveled with Inuyasha, Kagome-chan and Miroku. Finally, we killed Naraku and freed you."

"How long has it been?"

"Almost two years now. You're thirteen, almost a man already." There was no mistaking the look of pride she wore; Kohaku returned it with a warm smile.

Sango pushed herself to her feet; he sprang up beside her. He was already taller than she was, coming close to Miroku's height. "You're already tall; I take back what I said earlier," she smiled, ruffling his bangs. "Probably going to be as big as Chichi-ue was."

Genuine joy lit up his features. "Really?"

"Really." She mussed his hair affectionately again and then took his forearm. "Come on, let's have some breakfast."

Kohaku let her pull him back: in his excitement at seeing her happy, he had quite forgotten to ask her what their father had been like. His big sister – his not-so-big-anymore sister – had saved him. She had not forgotten him. It made him happy. The feel of her warm, strong fingers around his wrist tied him down to life. So long as he was with her, the death that was his soul could not touch him.

The air was heavy with the fragrant aroma of cooking rice. The monk sat by the campfire, placidly stirring the pot. He looked up, smiling warmly at the siblings' approach.

"Had a nice walk?"

"Good morning, Miroku. Yes, we did." Sango let go of Kohaku's hand and knelt beside the fire, scrutinizing it.

"Miroku, is there a good reason why you're cooking outside instead of in the kitchen?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

He blushed. "Well… I feel more comfortable cooking outdoors than in a kitchen…"

Sango laughed. "I see. At least it's not something like you burning the kitchen down or something like that."

"Eheheh… Sango! I'm sure you know me better than that." He waited until she had gone to fetch the utensils before leaning conspiratorially towards Kohaku. "Kohaku, do you mind distracting her after we've eaten so I can clean the kitchen up before she sees?"

The boy grinned. "Certainly, Houshi-sama."

* * *

After Sango had been successfully lured away from the vicinity of the kitchen (with Kirara's help), Miroku sighed as he picked up a broom.

"... Just how did this happen, Houshi-sama?" asked a wide-eyed Kohaku; every single thing in the tiny cramped room was covered by a thick layer of soot.

The monk took a while to answer as he struggled with the stubborn substance. "I... didn't know I had to clean out the fireplace before putting in the wood. And when the fire didn't catch, I fanned it."

The younger man smiled. He could empathise; after all, it had been Sango who usually took care of the domestic affairs. It was needless to say he would have done the same thing if he had been in Miroku's place.

They worked in silence, removing as much of the soot as possible.

When they had gotten the kitchen to (roughly) the state it had been in previously, both men went down to the river to wash, careful to give the area Sango had gone to inspect a wide berth.

Miroku stripped off cheerfully, rinsing his heavy outer robes in the gentle current of the water; Kohaku was more reserved.

Slowly, he shrugged off his clothes and steeped them; black tendrils of dirt leaked from the fabric and mingled with the clear water.

The monk noticed – he was used to picking up the signs from Sango – and waded over. "Your kimono looks so much easier to wash than mine." He held up the sopping-wet black koromo. "Look at that – I don't even know whether it's clean or dirty."

Kohaku laughed.

Miroku took that as a reassuring sign; after all, he did not know Kohaku that well to be able to be of much comfort. But the boy – _young man_ – was family now, and that was the most important thing.

After the outburst last night, Miroku had no idea how Kohaku viewed him; the man who had taken away his sister, the only family he had left? An older brother or father figure? Maybe even just a friend – the monk could not care less.

All he wanted was to care for his new family and love them: love them like he had never gotten the chance to with the family torn apart by the Kazaana.

Kohaku watched the pensive thoughts run over the monk's face; he was a puzzle to the young slayer. Miroku could be jovial one moment and brooding the next. He supposed it was because of the cursed hand he remembered the monk carried; all howling suction and black-purple winds. The older man's right hand was paler than the other – clearly the curse was broken and the glove made redundant.

Whether Kohaku liked it or not, Miroku was family now – his new brother-in-law. He briefly pondered the notion of having _family _again. Calling on his depleted memory brought nothing but annoying twinges of pain and he gave up on the idea.

The young man would simply have to get used to his present changing – faster than he could keep up with.

"Kohaku?"

Kohaku blinked; Miroku was climbing out of the water, pulling on his underkimono and spreading his robes over a large flat rock. "Here – pass me your clothes, They'll dry quickly in this heat."

True enough, when the younger man stepped out of the water, he felt the sun prickling at his back. It had risen into the sky while they were busy rinsing their clothes.

His back to Miroku, he tied the loincloth around his hips into a neat knot before joining the monk in the sun-warmed grass.

For some reason, the young slayer was a little embarrassed at continually being jerked out of the reverie he slipped into; without realising it, he drifted into his own world and stayed there. One hand plucked at the worn cotton of his loincloth.

Miroku glanced sideways at the young man, an almost fatherly smile playing on his lips. "How's your memory?"

"Better." It was, though he was recalling emotions and sensations rather than actual events.

"That's good." The monk lay back on the ground, hands pillowing his head. "I've never seen Sango so happy, not since you woke up."

"... She was?" He felt stirrings of affection for her.

"Yes. She really loves you."

Kohaku was happy; maybe it was the warm grass, maybe the drowsy heat, maybe the affirmation that Sango loved him.

* * *

They were helping Miroku with the rebuilding of the hut – he was having more problems with it than he originally let on – when they heard a voice calling.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Sango frowned and put down the crossbeam she was carrying. "Who could that be?" She walked over to the gate, Miroku and Kohaku following after.

A young man in rough, travel-stained clothes was standing outside the gate, a battered straw hat clasped between grubby hands.

"Yes?"

The man gave a visible start. "Ah – so they were right… there are demon slayers living here! Thank the kamis…"

Sango smiled. "We are indeed demon slayers. I am Sango, and this is my younger brother Kohaku and my fiancé, the monk Miroku. You have need of us?"

Kohaku did not miss the look on Miroku's face as he heard himself being introduced as such.

"Yes, yes!" blurted the man; he caught himself and bowed stiffly. "I'm sorry, how rude of me. I am Ryota, of the village beyond the mountains. We are being plagued by a terrible demon and we heard tales of a village of demon slayers living here. But as I traveled, I heard rumors it had been destroyed…"

"The rumors were true," she said shortly. "My brother and I are the only survivors. We only recently returned here to rebuild our home."

"I see. Will you help us, Sango-san?"

"Certainly. Give us some time to prepare. Would you like to rest for a while, Ryota-san? You must be exhausted from your journey."

He shook his head. "Forgive me, but I would prefer we depart the instant you are ready. Even now, the demon must be rampaging through my village. There is only so much we can do to ward it off."

"Of course. How far away is your village, Ryota-san?"

"About two days' walk from here."

"Alright."

Sango exchanged a look with Miroku, and he nodded. She beckoned to Kohaku to follow her, letting Miroku guide Ryota to one of the vacant huts.

"Ane-ue, where are we going?"

"The armory," she explained, leading the way through the collapsed huts. "There might be some useful equipment we can use – from the sound of it, this demon must be quite tough. In any case, it's better to be over-prepared than under-prepared."

They stopped in front of a sturdy-looking hut. Sango opened the door and stepped in, Kohaku behind her. He sucked in his breath. The walls were lined with shelves brimming with weapons of all shapes and sizes. His sister was rummaging in a large chest, pulling out various bags and pouches.

"Poison powder… smoke screen… this will come in handy," she muttered, examining a label attached to a small box. "Hmm… I wonder whether they're still effective…" He peered over her back, made curious by her monologue. Abruptly the rummaging came to a halt.

"Kohaku," she said, standing up and closing the chest with a snap, "are you… comfortable with fighting again?"

He blinked in confusion. Sango was chewing her lip worriedly, one hand gripping her elbow.

"Of course I am. Why would I be not?"

"Of course you are – what a stupid question to ask." Sango smiled weakly – it did nothing to reassure him – and began gathering the supplies in her arms. "Come on, help me take this back to the house."

Much to Sango's delight, the poisons and medicines she had found were still usable – Kirara took off and refused point-blank to come back until the fumes had completely dissipated – and she quickly stocked up hers and Kohaku's inventory. Miroku and Ryota watched, fascinated, by the sheer array of equipment.

Finally, Sango took up her Hiraikotsu and Kohaku his kusari-gama. "Let's go. Kirara!" With a mew, the demon cat ran to her mistress. The small party set off on their journey.

Initially, Kohaku was puzzled as to why Sango had not asked him to put on his slayers' outfit but as the day wore on, he understood: the day was hot enough as it was, even in his kimono. The heat would have been unbearable in the close-fitting black suit.

They walked quickly, stopping to rest only occasionally. Sango had wanted to travel through the night to make better time, something Ryota was all for but Miroku had dissuaded them both, expounding the importance of a good night's rest.

"It does you no good to go into battle tired," he admonished them gently. "You of all people should know that, Sango."

It was hard to argue with the persuasive monk and after a quick dinner, they settled down to sleep immediately. Miroku volunteered to take the first watch.

Sango stayed with Kohaku as he lay curled against a transformed Kirara, head resting on her back. She even stroked his hair as he fell asleep; it brought back vague stirrings of returning memory.

As his breathing became deep and regular, Sango got up and walked away to where Miroku sat. Kohaku's eyes snapped open and he stopped feigning sleep, turning his head slightly to watch her.

"Miroku."

He looked up and in the light of the dying fire, Kohaku saw him smile. "Sango. Why don't you sleep? Tomorrow is a busy day for you." He reached out and took her hand in his.

She slipped into his lap, his crossed legs forming a very comfortable seat for her. Miroku chuckled, wrapping his other arm around her waist.

"So you've come to keep me company?"

"Of course."

He brought his chin to rest on her shoulder, kissing her cheek. "I've missed holding you like this."

Sango giggled. "So have I."

She leaned her head into the crook of his neck. "You know, Kohaku said he remembered a bit of our childhood."

"Really? That's good," he told her, bringing both his hands to rest over her stomach. "Kaede-sama was right after all."

The slayer sighed. "I hope he eventually remembers everything – and at the same time, I wish he wouldn't. Is that silly of me, Miroku?"

"Of course not." He squeezed her hand. "You just don't want him to suffer with all those terrible memories."

"Yes – like I did. Sometimes I almost envied him: Kohaku didn't relive the past night after night, he didn't have his days haunted by memories. Just… _nothing_."

"The important thing is that you have your brother back, the way he was before Naraku took him."

"Yes…" Sango stiffened, struck by a sudden thought. "Miroku?"

"What is it?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he said in an amused tone of voice.

"More than a year ago, you asked me to marry you after we destroyed Naraku and took back Kohaku. Well…"

"… You want to postpone our wedding for Kohaku's sake?"

She looked up at him, horrified. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that – I'm sorry – "

"Don't be. I understand." His brow creased playfully. "And what have I told you about apologizing for things that aren't your fault?"

"Miroku…"

"Sango, you only just got Kohaku back. It's only natural you want to spend some time with him. You can't if you're a married woman with a home and a husband."

She buried her face in his chest. "Thank you," she whispered. "Miroku, it's not like you're second best or anything. I'm sorry – "

Miroku put a finger on her lips. "Again with the unnecessary apologies. He is your brother. He had the privilege of knowing you before I did."

"Anyway, there's still plenty of time. You said you would bear me as many children as I wanted."

She smiled. "How many did you have in mind, you lech?"

"Enough to repopulate the village by ourselves?"

Kohaku did not care to listen any more. He turned over, burying his own face in Kirara's fur and wishing it was her hair.

* * *

They set out on the journey again long before the sun rose and reached the village before midday. An over-excited Ryota broke into a run, announcing the arrival of the demon slayers. The inhabitants gradually emerged from their huts, weary drawn faces lighting up.

"Ryota?"

"It's Ryota!"

"Ryota's back!"

The murmur grew into loud babble and the group soon found themselves surrounded by people. They openly gawked at the Hiraikotsu, voices could be heard praising Sango's strength. She blushed, still not used to such attention.

Miroku took the opportunity to scan the crowd. Women and children easily outnumbered the men, many of which sported some injury. They were not dealing with an ordinary demon here.

"Give the honorable taijiya some room!" Ryota's voice boomed over the noise. They fell silent, the crowd parting to form a path for them to walk.

"Where is the demon?" asked Sango.

"It will be here soon," spoke up an elderly man, bent double with age. "It comes daily now, around sunset." She felt his eyes travel up and down her form, scrutinizing her carefully.

"Do you know where its lair is?"

The man nodded "Yes – it lives on the outskirts, in the forest." He hesitated for a second before speaking again. "Pardon me, taijiya-san, but are you really one?"

"What do you mean, ojii-sama?"

He gazed up at her through beetling eyebrows. "Many years ago, when I was a boy, demon slayers came to my village. They were all fierce men. You are a woman – and that young man with you is barely out of boyhood. The last member of your party is a monk!"

Ryota dashed forward, a panic-stricken look in his eyes. "Ojii-san!"

"I understand your reservations," Sango said patiently. "I do not know whether Ryota-san has told you that my brother and I were the last survivors of our people. But we are also the finest fighters. Miroku-sama is my fiancé and though not trained in demon-slaying, his assistance has proved time and again to be invaluable. We will not disappoint you and your people."

The old man locked eyes with her and grinned.

"You have spirit, slayer. I like that." He prodded the pale Ryota with the end of his staff. "Ryota, useless grandson of mine, take the slayers to the edge of the forest where that monster disappeared." The old man hobbled off.

The hapless young man shrugged. "I'm sorry about that – Ojii-san's a cantankerous old fellow at the best of times."

"It's alright," Sango grinned. "I've had many questions about my being a woman and a demon slayer."

As they walked through the village, Kohaku kept one hand on the handle of his kusari-gama. The stares of the villagers made him jumpy; he could feel their eyes like clammy hands running all over his body and judging him.

Truth to be told, he was more than a little nervous about the impending battle. Half of him thrilled at the encounter with his glorious death after so long; the other half recoiled in horror away from his soul.

A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder; Sango smiled reassuringly at him. "It'll be alright," she told him.

Kohaku smiled back weakly. If only she knew of the bloodlust in his heart – the real reason for his nervousness. If the inner demons were unleashed, no one, not even him, knew what could bind them again.

"We're here," announced Ryota, a definite quiver to his voice. The trees grew closely, casting a dark and gloomy atmosphere over the group. He pointed to a ragged gap in the tree line, littered with broken branches and foliage.

"The demon returned through here after its last attack, the villagers said, so the trail should still be fresh."

Sango knelt, examining the ground. "You never explained, Ryota-san – what kind of demon is it?"

"A bear demon."

"That explains a lot," she murmured, almost to herself. "Large bear demons are the only kind of demon capable of such destruction." Standing up, she addressed the young man.

"Ryota-san, we're going after the demon. Please go back to the village."

He nodded, still a little pale. "Take care – and good luck to all of you."

Sango strode into the trees, Miroku close behind and Kohaku bringing up the rear. The boy's eyes darted from side to side, watching for any movement or sign of a presence other than theirs.

"The forest is too quiet," commented Miroku in a whisper. "I guess the bear demon drove away all the other animals."

The slayer seemed as though she had not heard him, shifting into full huntress mode. Sango trod silently, her entire body focused only on her prey; with cat-like agility she stalked. Kirara, still in her little cat form, padded at her side, her eyes wide.

A distant growl.

They proceeded cautiously – and soon came across a clearing. A massive mountain of brown fur sat on its haunches in the middle, eating something.

Kohaku inhaled sharply – the creature was enormous. Blood-red eyes were set in an angular skull, large fangs and claws gleaming even as they were splattered with gore from the demon's meal. Even as they watched, a piece fell onto the ground and tumbled close to where they hid: a human arm, pathetically clad in the tatters of a bloody sleeve. He reflexively drew the kusari-gama from where it sat in his sash.

"Now!"

Kohaku and Sango leapt out of the bushes, hurling their weapons as they moved. Miroku was already in motion, careful not to get too close to the claws.

The demon roared as the Hiraikotsu cut a deep gash in its shoulder and the kusari-gama ripped apart its leg. Stumbling to its feet as blood began to fountain from its body, its attack was thwarted by a snarling Kirara going for its throat.

Kohaku darted around it, dodging the clumsy swipes, the blood thrumming in his ear. Adrenaline was surging into his limbs now, the battle-joy filling his mind. The scythe took on a life of its own, dancing through the air in a bloody display. Sango, Miroku, Kirara faded away into the background, as inconsequential as the trees in the forest. He was alone, invincible, battling the bear demon.

He laughed; a well-aimed slash brought forth a generous spray of blood, having clearly nicked a vein. Some splashed into his mouth, the coppery taste exciting his senses.

_Killkillkillfeelsgoodfeelspowerful – _

The roars of the bear demon grew progressively weaker as it began to flounder desperately, its attacks rapidly becoming desperate thrashing. The young slayer's confidence grew in comparison; Kohaku struck again and again blindly, pouring more ferocity into his attacks until his shoulder burned and the weapon's handle became slick with blood. It only made him laugh.

_Diediediedieweak – _

"Kohaku!"

The cry went unheeded. He was not Kohaku: he was a god of war, a victorious battle machine. Then the hands grabbed him. One seized his right wrist, forcing him to drop the already slippery kusari-gama, the other gripped his waist.

"Unhand me," he growled, spinning and backhanding the attacker with his weapon. A male grunt of pain; a human.

"Kohaku! Stop it, now!"

A woman's voice – _Kohaku? Is that my name?_ – split through his battle euphoria and with an inhuman cry, the battle god departed, leaving Kohaku shaking and unsteady.

The redness dissipated from the young man's vision and he blinked. The attacker – Miroku – had let go of him and backed away, a strange look on his face. His arm, bleeding freely, went unnoticed.

Sango was kneeling in the dirt before him, clutching her stomach and arm, Kirara at her side. They, the entire clearing, were all bathed in crimson, the bear demon – now an unrecognizable mass of clotted fur – lying dead before them. What scared Kohaku was the same strange look on her blood-smeared face as she looked at him: fear.

_Oh gods, had he hurt her? _The weapon dropped from his limp hand.

"Ane-ue! You're hurt!" Kohaku rushed to kneel beside her and examine her wounds – she flinched as he touched her arm.

He told himself it was because of the pain of her injuries.

She paid no heed to her wounds, looking into his eyes. "Kohaku… the bear demon was long dead."

"I know," he said, eyes wide in astonishment, "I killed it."

Sango made as though she would say something but stopped herself at the last moment. "You did well. I'm proud of you." Still the fear lurked in her eyes. He hated her for it; hated himself for hating her.

"Are you wounded?" she asked him. "You're completely drenched in blood."

Kohaku shook his head. "No, it all came from the demon."

"I'm glad to see you're alright, Kohaku," cut in Miroku abruptly, coming over to the siblings. "We should return to the village and see to those wounds – Sango, especially yours."

"I'm going to the river to wash first," muttered Kohaku, conscious of the fear they felt of him. Something must have happened during the fight to make them this way: but why were they afraid of him? His chest tightened.

_OhgodsohgodswhathaveIdonewhathaveIdone – _

Miroku nodded tightly, picking Sango up, Kirara clutched in her arms. They went their separate ways.

Once Kohaku was out of sight, he broke into a run, giving vent to the conflicting feelings in his heart.


	6. Six: Opening Old Wounds

**Author's Note:** For **kmoaton**, whose valuable feedback and comments on the previous chapter resulted in this.

* * *

The walk to the village was mostly silent: now and then, Sango winced as her arm and stomach throbbed. The demon's claws had managed to cut through the armour plate there, leaving deep gashes from which the bleeding had by now slowed to a trickle, much to Miroku's relief. The shrill whine of panic in the monk's ears was beginning to ease.

His grip on her tightened; Miroku simply could not imagine what would have happened if her lost her. Not now, after everything they had gone through.

"Miroku…"

He shushed her. "Don't talk. We're reaching the village soon."

Burning eyes cut into his stalling techniques, tearing them down. "You saw… what happened just now."

The monk hardened his jaw. "Now is not the time – "

"Kohaku – I have to talk to him – " Sango winced in pain. Her fiancé said nothing but quickened his pace. They were out of the wood now; even as he walked, villagers were gawking openly at them. They must have looked the sight – filthy, exhausted, covered in blood, a firecat limping at their heels.

"Houshi-sama! Sango-san!" Ryota was there, his face a mask of white worry. His grandfather was coming towards them in a fast shuffle, white brows knitted into a knot over the bridge of his nose.

"Help Sango. She's badly hurt," managed Miroku. The younger man shouted for the healers, taking Sango into his arms and into a nearby hut. The monk made to follow but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"You're hurt as well, Houshi-sama," grunted the old man. "Get those wounds seen to before you look after your woman, or you'll kill your damned fool self. Wait – where's the boy?"

"At the river, cleaning himself. He wasn't injured."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "With his sister hurt that bad?"

Miroku chose not to respond, letting the women chivvy him away to have his arm and other injuries seen to. The moment they released him, he left for Sango's bedside with a quick word of thanks.

Her wounds were already cleaned and dressed; the healer pronounced them no danger to her life despite their severity, attributing it to her robust constitution. She was conscious and he saw her eyes flick to him when he came in. Kirara, her paw similarly dressed, was curled up at her feet, sound asleep.

"Miroku…"

"I'm here, Sango." He sat at the edge of the futon, taking her hand in his uninjured one. "How are you feeling?"

"I've had worse," she said shortly. "Kohaku…"

"… he's not back yet." There was an uncertainty in her eyes that he had not seen in months.

"Did you see his eyes?"

Miroku looked back into her face; it was veiled and taut, the woman retreating back into her pain. A sight he found heartbreakingly familiar.

"Sango, you should be resting – "

"His eyes, they were blank. Like when he was under Naraku's control." The slayer spoke in a tone devoid of inflection, though there was a definite quiver with the final words. "It's my fault; I shouldn't have let him come." Sango's wide brown eyes drifted to his bandaged arm: tears welled up in their corners. "I'm sorry, Miroku."

The monk dabbed at her face with his knuckle. "Shh. It's alright."

"He could have killed you."

"He didn't."

"Kohaku… he looked so happy during the fight. Like he was… _enjoying_ it."

Miroku was torn: he wanted Sango to stop talking about her brother as though he was a monster but he could not deny the hellish transformation of Kohaku.

The boy had killed – no, _butchered_ – the demon cruelly. Rather than dispatching it effectively by going for the throat like Sango would have done, Kohaku had hacked away at its body, making numerous shallow wounds not deep enough to kill. The demon had bled to death, its frenzied attacks becoming helpless flailing – Miroku shuddered at the memory7, sickened. He had seen Kohaku laugh – seen him lick the bear demon's blood away from his face where it had splattered, sadistic animal-like joy flaring in the dulled eyes –

The young man had even attacked him in his bloodlust. All in front of Sango. Miroku had hoped to save her from any further heartbreak: she had suffered enough in her short life.

It seemed his silent promise, made so very long ago to protect her always was coming to naught.

"Are you sure of that? Kohaku was fighting to protect you, after that demon bear's claws brought you down."

She stared back blankly. "Don't lie to me, Miroku."

The monk sighed. "Sango, you're exhausted from the battle and you lost a lot of blood – you don't know what you're saying. Please get some rest. We'll talk when you've woken up, alright?" He bent down and kissed her forehead, smoothing her sweat-stained hair from her forehead.

Miroku needed to calm himself, go outside and meditate, perhaps: regain his inner peace. Buddha knew he needed it before he could confront Kohaku. Before pushing aside the door hanging, he turned his head to check on her: she lay staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.

"Sango," he said in mock-fury, shaking his head and forcing a smile to his face. "What did I say?"

Receiving no reply, he crossed the room in a few strides, lying down on the futon beside her and taking her into his arms, mindful of her injuries. Burying his face in her hair, Miroku alternately murmured words of comfort and caressed her face and body, pouring his concern into her wounded soul, pretending not to notice the bitter tears that wet them both.

"I have to talk to him," Sango managed eventually.

"Later," he whispered, his breath making soft beats on her cheek. "After this, Sango. Sleep."

Miroku waited until the sorrowful brown eyes had closed and Sango's breathing become slow and regular before he gently disentangled her fingers from the front of his robes, slipping outside into the sunshine.

Ryota was hovering anxiously outside for him. "Houshi-sama," he gasped. "Is Sango-san alright?"

"She's fine," answered the monk, touched by the young man's concern. "She needs to rest a little, that's all."

"Oh." Ryota's shoulders sagged in relief. Miroku noticed there were dark smears of blood all over the front of his clothes.

"Ryota-san, your clothes – "

He lifted his arms to examine himself and smiled sheepishly. "I was worried about Sango-san – I guess I forgot to change my clothes."

Ryota was about to leave when he stopped as though struck by a sudden thought. "Houshi-sama, if you like, I have some spare clothes for you too. Perhaps you'd like to have those robes of yours washed?"

Miroku smiled and shook his head. "Please don't trouble yourself – "

"I insist. You and Sango-san nearly got yourselves killed destroying the demon, it's the least we can do for you."

"... Thank you, Ryota-san. That would be very much appreciated," said the monk finally. It was hard to say no to the young man's cheerful, honest face.

He beamed. "Then please, this way, Houshi-sama."

None of them noticed the dark figure behind the hut dart out of sight; once it was sure they were gone, it slipped inside.

* * *

It was dark when she woke, but she did not notice it at first: she felt the absence of warmth beside her more keenly.

Miroku had been there – he had soothed her to sleep. He was gone now.

She had half-expected to wake and find him beside her – he was injured himself and needed rest almost as much as she did, no matter what he said. Her first instinct was to feel angry: he had probably left her to find a woman for his entertainment while she recovered. The thought was quickly quashed. She felt immediately guilty for even thinking that. Miroku had changed – they both had changed. He was no longer the open lecher of before who shamelessly declared his eternal love to any and every maiden; she was no longer the jealous woman who would suffer in silence as her feelings killed her from the inside out. The relationship had changed for the better.

Sango stirred slightly, trying to get comfortable; her muscles were stiff and they were beginning to ache. _Damn this darkness – I can't see a single thing._ Her blanket had slipped down in the middle of her fidgeting and she felt the night chill. One hand tentatively reached out, patting the mat blindly in search of it.

A faint rustling: the slayer stiffened as suddenly, warmth enveloped her body. Someone had pulled the blanket back over her body, tucking it under her chin.

"Miroku?"

No reply – the hands ghosted over the outline of her limbs, making sure she was completely covered. Sango took his silence as assent.

She strained her ears; she could hear footsteps heading for the door, growing more distant.

"Wait. Stay with me, please. I don't want to be alone."

They stopped and hesitantly grew louder. The futon beside her depressed, taking the weight of a man. A hand fumbled for hers, grasping it loosely until she tightened her grip on it.

Sango frowned. Something was wrong; she did not recall Miroku's hands feeling this way. The hand in hers was large and muscular, but something about it felt different.

"Kohaku!" she gasped. Hearing his name, the youth stiffened and tried to pull his hand out of hers but she clamped it tightly.

"Ane-ue!" choked out the boy in a strangled voice, his terror apparent. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – I'm going."

"Wait, don't go!"

He ignored her, desperately struggling to free himself from her iron grip. Sango gasped in pain as her exertions wrenched at her wounds. Kohaku stopped moving upon hearing her cry out.

"I hurt you – I'm sorry!" The boy slid, boneless, to his knees, head bowed, body shaking. Despite the relentless throb of her arm and midsection, Sango's free hand found his hair and tousled it fondly.

"…Why can't I do anything right? Without hurting anyone?" Kohaku whispered brokenly. Hot tears wet her cheeks; Sango's heart bled for her once-lost brother – or maybe still was.

"Shh… it's not your fault. It never was." She easily drew him into a half-embrace, holding the sobbing young man to her.

Miroku watched from the doorway silently before disappearing back into the night from which he had just come.

* * *

Despite the insistence of both Ryota and Miroku, Sango insisted on going home the very next day.

"I don't want to be a burden, Ryota-san," she explained as she sat up in bed, putting together her things in their carrying cloths.

"Sango, your injuries are quite serious, they haven't closed up yet. You'll worsen them if you travel now." Miroku looked quite stern with the usual twinkle gone from his violet-grey eyes.

Kohaku sat morosely beside the hearth, not meeting anyone's eye. Miroku had not said anything when he showed up at the hut the night before, merely offering the boy a bowl of rice and a welcoming smile. The younger slayer had picked at the food before drifting off into a troubled sleep at his sister's bedside, leaving Miroku to watch over the both of them.

Kirara growled against Sango's ankle, nudging her mistress back down obstinately whenever she tried to rise.

"Looks like Kirara agrees with us," smirked the monk. "Give in, Sango." The demon slayer gave a growl of her own – and shook her head in grim resignation.

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice." Grudgingly, she put down the Hiraikotsu and lay back down.

Miroku beamed. "So glad you're listening to reason, my dear."

She huffed in reply, wincing slightly as she moved her arm.

The monk glanced over. "Yes. That reminds me, it's time to change your bandages." He picked up the wooden pail in the corner and walked out.

Kohaku looked up when Miroku returned, medical supplies in hand and slowly got up to leave. Sango shot her fiance a pleading look; he sighed and inclined his head slightly.

"No, Kohaku," came his sister's gentle voice; his heart leapt. "You can stay. I need help with these bandages."

"Houshi-sama – "

" – has other business to attend to," Miroku finished. He caressed Sango's face and bent down to kiss her cheek, whispering "Good luck," in her ear.

When the monk's footsteps had receded into the distance, the slayer sat up, patting the futon next to her."You were the first one to help patch me up after training. I'd like you to help me."

He furrowed his brow, searching for memories that he already knew were not there; she noticed his confusion and flushed scarlet.

"I – I'm sorry – I forgot – " she stuttered. Kohaku flashed her what he hoped was a disarming smile and knelt beside her, pulling the ttray of medical supplies closer to him.

"It doesn't matter." He gently tugged at the collar of her loose kosode; she hastened to pull it down for him. "You can tell me all about them."

All coherent thought fled the young man's mind: Sango was not wearing anything under it, not even her usual breast bindings. "They were torn and bloodstained, so I think the healer threw them away," she said, as though reading his mind. "But it's okay, you're my little brother."

_I wish I wasn't. _

Cautious calloused fingertips grazed the exposed skin of her stomach; they glided down reluctantly to the neat knot under Sango's left armpit. Kohaku fumbled with it for a moment until it fell away, letting him unwind the bandages: he was careful to ease them away from the raw flesh where the blood had dried. He repeated the process with infinite care for the set of bandages over her arm.

Finally, she was exposed before his eyes, his beautiful war goddess. He tried to keep his eyes averted, hiding any sign of burgeoning unbrotherly interest, focusing on the light tint decorating Sango's face or the roll of fresh bandages in his hands.

Kohaku wadded the old wrappings into a ball; they were stiff with dried blood – a tinge of guilt brought the colour into his cheeks.

"Ane-ue – about last night…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she told him softly but firmly. "I shouldn't have reacted that violently as I did; I startled you."

Deciding silence was his best option, the young man busied himself with the dressings. Anticipating the cleaning the wounds to be the most difficult task – he was contending with the fine temptation of his sister's assets and the equal difficulty of not touching them – Kohaku dropped his gaze to the wooden planks of the floor.

"Kohaku, you can look, you know."

His face went a deeper, more spectacular shade of red; he sneaked a peek upwards, pulling his head so he saw nothing but her face.

It was a darker crimson than he would have thought possible but the similarity between brother and sister ended there. Her eyes – _his eyes too_, he recalled – burned obstinately.

When she spoke, though, her voice was softness personified. "I know I haven't been a good sister to you all this time – I couldn't protect you from Naraku – and even since Haha-ue died. I'm sorry. I should have taken better care of you especially now – you're all I have left, you and Kirara…"

"Ane-ue…" His hands trembled; he wished he could say her name. Anything to make her feel better.

"About last night…" Sango appeared to falter but pressed on. "I saw for the first time – truly – what had happened to you – the sweet, gentle boy who loved to laugh, because I failed."

_Please don't say I'm a monster._ "It's not your fault – "

Tears welled up in her eyes and she dabbed at them, unmindful of her own semi-nudity and her injuries. Kohaku was struck dumb: so beautiful, so broken, so tainted, so strong.

"I just want us to go back the way we were before; you used to tell me everything," she finally got out. "I can't stand seeing us so awkward around each other..."

Kohakue took several deep breaths, steadying himself. "Ane-ue, let me dress your wounds, please." He longed to touch her but restrained himself, concentrating on the gashes that marred her otherwise perfect torso. The rag he was using to clean away the dried blood skimmed over the ugly cuts lightly as he focused on his task.

Finally, he gathered the loose ends of cloth together at her back but stopped, transfixed. In the middle of her back was a diamond-shaped scar; from the colour of it, he knew it had been deep and life-threatening. What made it so compelling was its shape…

"Kohaku?"

The boy traced the edges of the healed lump of flesh with a trembling finger. "This wound…" Jagged memory gnawed at his mind: he knew this.

He had given it to her…

It was hidden from his shocked view in a split-second as Sango pulled her kosode back around her body. "Thank you for changing my bandages," she whispered. "I'm tired – I'd like to sleep."

"But the bandages haven't been secured – "

"I'll do it myself!" Sango fumbled with the ends, tying them into a rough knot, her back to him all the while. "Please, just go. It's nothing."

Head reeling, he got up and left, the warm afternoon air rejuvenating him like a balm. There was no mistaking it – only his kusari-gama could have made that wound. Flashes of memory – his sister's screams, wet warmth of fresh tears cleansing the blood on his face, the horror and disbelief in her eyes as she turned to him – appeared in his mind's eye, only to vanish a split-second later.

"_So Naraku killed them all except for you and I?"_

_A flicker passed over her face – he could have sworn it was hesitation. "Yes," she said firmly._

Sango, his older sister Sango: she could not have lied to him… could she?

* * *

Miroku hummed to himself as he carried the tray of food: it had been a good day – albeit one without lechery whatsoever, something he still found surprising. The monk had already found the only woman who he wanted to bear his child and spend the rest of his life with. As the hut drew into his field of vision, his mood sobered. Miroku was hoping the alone time he had given his fiancee and her brother had turned out fruitful.

"Sango? Are you asleep?"

His worst fears were confirmed as he stepped into the darkened hut. Even without Inuyasha's keen senses, the monk knew she was crying, buried underneath the blanket as she was.

Setting the tray to one side, he slid into the bed with her, stroking her hair. "Shhh, Sango, what's wrong?" A choked sob; she turned over and accepted him gratefully, clinging to him as though she would never let go.

From experience, he knew he was not going to get a quick answer from her; Miroku was secretly thankful. He had missed holding her in his arms, the night they had spent together while on the road seemingly so long ago. He heaved a sigh; he was seeing too much of the sorrowful woman he had met years ago, the one who was alone in the world.

The monk dropped a kiss into her tangled locks, brushing away her tears with his lips. Listening to Sango cry had always been a harrowing experience for him: Miroku felt for her, having seen her suffering and he wanted to share it with her. Anything to see her happy.

_I thought she would be happy now that Kohaku's back but it seems as though I'm wrong. Things have just gotten worse, much worse…_

He quashed the errant thought, feeling guilty for having even entertained it in the first place. What would she do, having the two most important men in her lives fighting? It would break her heart – what fragments were remaining of it, that is. Miroku loved his hurting, broken slayer more than anything else to think of putting her through something as harrowing as that.

His instincts – both spiritual and gut – told him there was something not quite right with Kohaku: an observation he had kept under wraps, seeing how happy Sango was with his return. He could not say for certain what it was; all Miroku knew was that the boy Kohaku was not the same boy he had been – possibly not quite human in the normal sense of the word.

"It's alright," he muttered, feeling Sango shiver, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. "It's going to be alright, Sango, I'm here."

The battle with the bear demon had only confirmed Miroku's suspicions – doubly so when the boy had turned on him. For the briefest of instants, the monk had seen something red flash in Kohaku's eyes, a clue that something else lurked behind them. From Sango's many stories about her gentle little brother, the demonic individual seething with bloodlust could hardly be the young man Kohaku would have been under normal circumstances.

His grip on the woman cradled in his arms tightened. He had protected her all this while since the day she had joined them, the blood-soaked warrior woman with eyes and will of steel, through the death of their common enemy. He would continue to protect her with everything he had.

Even from the only family she had left.


	7. Seven: Bend And Break

Finally, Sango's sobs died down somewhat. Miroku stirred slightly, his thumb smoothing her fringe back from her face.

"Sango?"

She looked up at him tearfully. "Miroku." The slayer nestled her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his clean masculine scent. The faint scent of incense permeated the cloth, making his scent so distinguishable from the other men.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"Kohaku – he knows." Miroku's mouth tightened; he drew Sango closer. "He knows… I lied to him."

The monk blinked in confusion, lowering his surprised gaze to hers. "You… lied?"

Sango shook her head, moisture beginning to well up again. "That day in the village – he asked me to tell him what happened the day he came under Naraku's control – I couldn't bring myself to tell him he attacked me and we were killed – " The words came thick and fast. "Just now, he saw the scar on my back – "

His mouth had become thinner and thinner as he listened to Sango: Miroku realized things had gotten from bad to worse. "Sango – you were only trying to spare him further pain…" he muttered. Considering the way Kohaku had reacted to the accidental slipping of his engagement to his sister, it was something Miroku himself would have done; regardless, he could not begin to imagine how the young man would handle finding out the truth this way.

"I shouldn't have kept the truth from him in the first place." The slayer turned her back to him. "It's all my fault."

The monk placed a firm hand on her uninjured shoulder, squeezing it. "You can't blame yourself for everything that happens."

He had said the wrong thing; Sango shook her head, her muscles stiffening in her agitation. "Why not? Houshi-sama, please stop saying all these things... It is my fault, I am to blame: it's as simple as that. Stop trying to make me feel better about myself…"

All at once, her body slumped; she almost seemed to be trying to curl in on herself. "Stop trying to make me forgive myself," she whispered almost to herself.

Miroku lowered his head, pulling himself up into his usual cross-legged position. "You've been too hard on yourself – I'm not exaggerating, Sango," he said coldly before the slayer could open her mouth to reply. "You're right – it was wrong of you to lie to Kohaku. But you did what any older sister would have done: protect his innocence the best you can from the cruel world. There is a difference between a lie and a white lie."

"Do you think Kohaku would have reacted any differently if you had first told him the truth – that he killed his own father and comrades? That he almost killed you that night and on so many other different occasions? That you spent so many sleepless nights blaming yourself for what happened that night? That when you did sleep, he was the subject of the nightmares that have followed you for the past year as we hunted Naraku?"

She had gone deathly white as she listened to Miroku, fists clenching in the blanket.

"Miroku… you don't understand. You can't."

"Why not?"

She lifted her head to look at him; the same spark he had seen many times when they were faced with daunting odds dancing in her brown eyes.

"You were never an older brother – you don't know what it's like to have someone to be responsible for at such a young age. I was more than that – I was both mother and sister to him."

Anger stirred in Miroku's gut. "Sango, that's not what I mean."

"I practically raised him – my father had no time to nurse a sickly baby," she told him. "I taught him everything he knows. I looked after him when he was sick. I showed him how a seed grows into a tree and told him why the sun rises in the east."

"We were so close; Kohaku used to tell me everything. But as we grew older, I put more of my time and effort into my training. He spent most of his time alone. But even then, when my father and I came home from a busy day of training, he'd prepare a meal and afterwards, he'd still share all his thoughts, hopes and dreams with me." Sango's voice faltered a little. "I barely listened, my head full of thoughts of fighting and weapons. I'd come to regard him as an annoyance."

"Whatever you're feeling now is just guilt from those times," interjected Miroku patiently.

"Perhaps. I was so excited when my father made Kohaku train along with us: we could do something together. I should have realized it was not the life for him. And yet I pushed all my doubts to one side. Until that night, we were summoned to the castle on Kohaku's first mission…."

Sango broke off; she lowered her chin to her knees, a pensive look in her eye.

He sighed heavily. "Sango, come here." She came obediently into his open arms and let him hold her.

"Stop punishing yourself." Fingers parted the long brown curtain of hair hanging over her shoulder and nestled in the soft fabric of her kimono. "Sometimes, things are just out of our hands and no matter how hard we try, there's nothing we can do to change them." Miroku belatedly realized her body was no longer molded to his; it was rigid with anger.

The slayer jerked her head from him, blazing with fury. "I'm not you, Houshi-sama!" she hissed. "I don't give up that easily; I will fight for my brother no matter what it takes. I will not lose him again."

Sango gasped and covered her mouth as Miroku turned white; the effect of her words was like a slap in his face. Making matters worse, she had let slip the unwanted title.

"Miroku – I…" she stuttered, reaching out a conciliatory hand.

Anger of his own simmered behind tempestuous violet eyes; he pulled his hand from hers. "… If that's the way you feel, Sango, then I… I will not stand in your way." He was treating her like one of his conquests, to be discarded after he had his way with them and it hurt; she wished he would shout at her, or slap her. Anything was better than this coldness.

"You're right; I give up easily. But only when I think something's not worth fighting for." Coolly, the monk pushed aside the door hanging and disappeared into the night. Sango let the tears come then.

_Why do I always end up hurting the ones I love? _

* * *

Kohaku was outside, seated in a low tree, watching the forest come to life at night; he gave a start as Miroku stormed out of the house.

His sister's man seemed to be the most level-headed person he had ever met. And yet... as he vanished into the dense vegetation, the young man noticed he was incandescent – even shaking with barely suppressed rage.

A wry smile briefly flashed over his face; apparently men of Buddha were not immune to the ways of the world.

* * *

Miroku walked until his legs refused to carry him any further, finding himself in a convenient clearing, dominated by a large maple.

His heart was still pounding; already he was feeling guilty for letting Sango's words get to him. She let herself get carried away when angry – he should know that after so many years – and said things she never meant.

But angry words tended to have an echo of truth in them.

_So is that how she thinks of me?_

The monk shook the unpleasant thoughts from his mind, taking deep breaths to calm himself. It was times like this – thankfully few and far in between – he was glad his spiritual training came in handy for purposes other than containing the Kazaana.

But it was gone now; he suddenly became aware of the prickling roughness of tree bark against his naked palm, reminding him of what he had lost – and what he had gained.

It did not bode well for his future with Sango if such little things were to incite such violent fights – especially over Kohaku. Despite his increasing misgivings, Miroku cared about the young man as though he was his own brother, and not just his wife-to-be's.

And that was what hurt him the most.

What if Kohaku was not truly himself? Could Miroku really bear to raise a blade against him – even if it was not the boy any more? He knew Sango could not.

They had gone through so much to liberate him from Naraku's hands; to extinguish him themselves was the final irony that would have, no doubt, amused the dark hanyou greatly. It angered Miroku all over again that althought the foul creature was dead and gone, they were still his puppets, jerking and dancing while entangled in his strings.

A wave of hopeless despair washed over the monk, reminiscent of that which he had felt while on his quest to break his curse; he lashed out at the tree trunk. Pain reverberated through his knuckles and up his arm.

At least he was feeling something.

Miroku pulled back his throbbing hand, examining the split skin would heal – as all physical wounds did – eventually. A scar would be left, marking the spot where blood had been shed, and little else.

What he would not do to have the emotional wounds close up in the same way.

He stood up, binding his hand with a rag taken from inside his robes. The monk had spent enough time wallowing in self-pity; it was time he became the tower of strength they needed him to be.

* * *

Kohaku hovered on the threshold of the hut, one hand fingering the hanging cloth in the doorway. The moon had risen and Miroku had yet to return from the forest; he wondered whether it was right for him to intrude...

… and replace him inside.

Sango's tears had subsided long ago; he guessed she was trying her best not to cry. She did not seem like the weepy sort which burst into tears at the smallest thing, yet anything concerning him could bring a moistness to her eyes.

A walking contradiction – perhaps that was why he found her so fascinating.

The young man made up his mind. Before he could change it, he pulled aside the door hanging and stepped in.

His sister was lying in her bed, her back to the doorway. She immediately sat up as his footsteps sounded on the packed dirt... and the hopeful light in her eyes died away somewhat as he looked into them.

"Kohaku," she said. "It's late. You should be asleep."

"I know, Ane-ue." He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to be busy with preparations for sleep; she appeared too distraught about her fight with Miroku to remember their previous awkward encounter.

Kohaku did not know whether to be relieved or disquieted.

He shuffled on his knees to where she sat, fingering the hem of her kimono anxiously. "Ane-ue, is everything alright? Why aren't you asleep yet? Where's Houshi-sama?"

She gave a start at the last question, her ceaseless fingers freezing around a worn thread.

"Hou – houshi-sama hasn't returned yet." Sango bent her head, her hair falling around her eyes.  
I think he'll be back later."

Kohaku feigned deafness – her voice shook, close to tears – and nodded, the good obedient little brother asking after the well-being of his future brother-in-law. "... Ane-ue, did something... _happen _between you and Houshi-sama?"

The slayer brushed at the corners of her eyes. "We had a small misunderstanding, that's all. Don't worry about it." Firmly, she smoothed out his mat and patted it; her quiet way of indicating the conversation was closed.

The young man saw no help for it; he hugged her close and whispered his goodnights, savouring the lingering scent of jasmine in her hair before retiring.

Keeping very still, he waited it out together with her.

Kohaku felt Miroku coming before he actually heard footsteps outside the hut; he could not explain precisely why he could feel waves of energy surrounding a person. The young slayer kept it a secret from his sister and the monk.

A rustling of cloth; a tired-looking Miroku came in and slowly pulled off his sandals, taking his time to ease the straps off his feet.

"Miroku..."

His back was turned towards the interior of the house, meaning Kohaku was unable to see his reaction. But there was a slight tensing of the monk's body, and the hand undoing the sandal froze momentarily.

"Sango, I – I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things..."

There was a silence, and Miroku turned his head to investigate. Sango's head was bowed, her expression unreadable.

"Sango?"

"Why are you apologising, Miroku?" The slayer lifted her face to his. "It's not fair that you're making everything out to be your fault. But you apologising to _me _for things that _I've_ said..."

He leaned forward, taking her hand in his.

"You were right to be angry with me."

Sango sniffled loudly.

"I've hurt you – I'm sorry."

Miroku rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand; she made a surprised sound at the blood-speckled rag binding his knuckles.

"Your hand – "

"You were right, Sango," he said as though she had never spoken. "I don't know what it's like to have a brother; what it feels like to care for someone." He traced abstract patterns over her skin. "My mother died giving birth to me - and I've been alone most of my life. Save for Mushin-sama and Hachi."

"I..."

He silenced her with a finger on her lips. "I would have loved to have a sibling. And now I do, through you."

Now completely distracted from Miroku's hand, Sango's eyes brightened with sudden understanding. "Miroku, you mean – "

"Of course." The monk glanced at a still Kohaku. "We will be family, once we are married."

A pretty blush rose into her cheeks. "Married." Sango wondered why the smallest and slightest word from him could elicit such a strong reaction in her.

Miroku chuckled suddenly, a low gentle sound.

"Yes, married, silly girl."

She buried her increasingly heated face into his shoulder partly out of embarrassment – partly to hide from him the joy spreading across her face. For so long she had dreamed of marriage and a family; only recently had Sango wanted those things with him.

Guilt gently nagged at her conscience – they had had an argument not that long ago – and she withdrew, suddenly too ashamed to face him.

"Don't change the subject." The monk raised an eyebrow at that. "I... wish I could take back those words I said earlier, Miroku. I didn't mean to say them... I'm sorry."

Miroku sighed. "It's still bothering you? I've forgotten it already." He tugged on the sleeve of her kimono, inviting her back into his embrace. "I know you, Sango. You definitely don't mean those things."

She stubbornly resisted him. Sango made to protest but eventually melted; his violet eyes were bright with conviction. Sighing, she let him take the last of her guilt away and leaned back against his chest.

"That doesn't change the fact that I hurt your feelings," the slayer insisted.

"Lovely Sango, if a little hurt could deter me from you, we wouldn't be here today."

His arms came up to embrace her, stroking the curve of her ass on their way up.

"... Pevert." But it was her pet name for him, and everything was right in their world.

His fingers – now they lacked the purple glove, they were always moving, exploring, making up for lost time – played relentlessly with her hair. "... So, you'll forgive yourself?"

Sango blew out an amused sigh that was part giggle. "Yes."

He chuckled and she joined in. After a minute or so she realised they were not alone and shushed him. "Kohaku's sleeping."

"So we should be." He waggled his eyebrows salaciously; Sango swatted at his chest and straightened her mat, a subtle invitation to join her.

Kohaku did not care to watch any more; he screwed up his eyes properly and tried to doze off. When the sounds had died away, something niggled at him and he opened them a fraction.

They looked like a perfectly happy couple, completely in love; Sango was asleep, her back was pressed against Miroku's front, her chest rising and falling in even motions; his hands were wrapped around her waist, holding her close. The monk's violet eyes were still open, barely visible over the top of her hair.

His eyes were deeply troubled.


	8. Eight: Deceit

Sango was humming to herself as she busied herself with the household chores; an old song she vaguely remembered her mother used to sing when she was a child. Kirara listened for a while, tails twitching, before deciding she did not care much for human music and settled in for a nap.

Kohaku and Miroku were out on a mission. She had been forced to stay behind because they were worried she was rushing things: her wounds from the bear demon had only recently healed.

"_We don't want you overexerting yourself, my dear Sango," Miroku said, kissing her forehead, his arms around her shoulders._

"_But – "_

"_Houshi-sama's right, Ane-ue," cut in Kohaku cheerfully, his brown eyes dark with concern belying his tone. "You should rest."_

"_Exactly." He played with her hair, tugging on her long brown mane before leaning in conspiratorially. "There are more… exciting activities I've been longing to do with you once you recover."_

_She snorted. "Pervert," Sango scolded, slapping his shoulder lightly. Miroku laughed. "I could never be anything else with you." He planted a butterfly-light peck on her forehead, irritating her to no end. Knowing he delighted in teasing her like this, she ended their game by impatiently pulling his face down for a proper goodbye kiss. _

_Kohaku leaned casually in the door frame, groaning and rolling his eyes dramatically at their antics._

She smiled at the memory as she sat down to continue work on her latest project: a new kimono for Kohaku. He was too old for the young boys' style he currently wore; already finished with the hakama, she was working on the jacket. The cloth she was using was royal blue; she hoped he would like the shade.

* * *

Miroku watched Kohaku closely the entire time during the mission, even while they fought. Luckily their adversary was nowhere near as strong as the bear demon; the young man easily vanquished it with one well-aimed slice of his kusari-gama.

He had yet to speak to Kohaku, to hear his side of the story. The time never seemed right – Sango or even Kirara would interfere in some way, forcing the monk to put off his questions for fear of upsetting Sango.

Although he considered himself a patient man, his reserves were fast running low.

They had not spoken a word to each other on the way out, the young man staring off into the middle distance at nothing in particular, the same pensive look his sister wore when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

Now on their return journey, Miroku felt he had held his tongue long enough.

"Kohaku?"

He blinked and turned to look at his brother-in-law to be. "Yes, Houshi-sama?"

"The other night, in Ryota's village – " the monk noticed something change in Kohaku's eyes " – when you were helping Sango with her bandages…"

The young slayer forced himself to meet Miroku's searching gaze. "… What about it?"

"Did… did she say anything… strange?" The monk mentally kicked himself; his vaunted silver tongue apparently nowhere to be found.

Kohaku shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "No. Why?"

Disappointed, Miroku looked away. He should have known it would not be as easy as that to get his answers. "Nothing. I was just worried; Sango looked upset when I came in later that night."

"Upset?" The young man appeared genuinely distressed by the news.

The monk smiled reassuringly. "Yes – but she's fine now. It's hard for Sango to believe it's all over and she can be happy. The past has a way of haunting people."

He received a nod in reply and the younger man returned to his quiet ruminations.

Miroku frowned. Kohaku was clearly lying; he wondered why.

* * *

Inuyasha lounged in the branch of his favourite tree; the one that offered a view of the village and the Bone-Eater's well. He had spent many a day there, watching and waiting for Kagome to appear...

Those days were gone, now that she had chosen to spend the rest of them with him.

The warm breeze ruffled his hair and tickled his skin –

Abruptly, Inuyasha sat bolt upright, nose sniffing furiously, in case he was mistaken.

"Damn."

He hopped down, heading to the small hut on the fringes of the village he shared with his wife. 'Kagome?"

She emerged from the back, Shippou in tow chattering merrily. A woven basket half-filled with scented herbs explained her grubby robes and hands; Inuyasha took a moment – uncharacteristic as it was for him – to see his family. Soon to be broken again by this news.

"What is it, Inuyasha?"

The hanyou's mouth was a grim slash. "I... just caught Naraku's scent."

Kagome, much to her credit, took the news calmly. "Where?"

"Just for an instant, some distance from here in the direction of the tiger." Inuyasha's ears twitched restlessly; she had never seen him so agitated in a long time.

"Should we get Sango, Miroku and Kohaku?"

Inuyasha folded his arms. "If we must."

A small smile lit up her otherwise solemn face in spite of the situation. "I wonder how they are – it's been a few months since we last saw them."

Her husband was in no mood for light-hearted thoughts; he snorted as he spun on his heel to go. "Keh – they'll be alive, just as they've been all the while." The hanyou stopped in his tracks when he realised Kagome was not following him. "Come on, we're going."

"Now?" she asked in utter disbelief.

"Yes, now," Inuyasha snapped back. "I can smell Naraku, months after we killed the bastard and I fucking want to know why."

Without a word of protest, Kagome disappeared into their home and remerged carrying her bow and arrows. Hitching up her priestess' robes, she climbed on Inuyasha's back with an unusually quiet Shippou. She knew what was the cause of his edginess; shortly after carrying Kohaku to Kaede's hut, they had found Kikyou's broken corpse among the dead of the battlefield.

Inuyasha had never gotten to apologise or even say goodbye; Naraku had robbed him of even that small comfort.

The wind whistled in her ears as the landscape blurred. Beneath her legs, she felt his body tense and relax as he ran.

"Inuyasha?" she said softly after an appropriate time.

"I'm sorry, Kagome." His voice was apologetic; almost gentle. "I didn't mean to snap like that – "

"It's all right." Kagome touched his cheek. "I understand."

The rest of the journey passed in silence, all three dreading what they would find.

* * *

Back in the slayers' village, Miroku and Kohaku had just returned from the job.

"We're home!" called Miroku, slapping dust from his clothing just outside the hut. Sango emerged, hugging both of them in turn. Kirara purred and rubbed against their legs.

When she wrapped her arms around Kohaku's back, the young man responded with an enthusiastic squeeze; his large hands encircled her shoulders, his fingers splayed across her kimono. He kissed her cheek – the fragrant scent of her hair filled his nose. Slowly, hesitantly, his hands dipped lower down –

– Sango pulled away to walk into the house, rapt in conversation with Miroku. She disengaged herself from the circle of his arms so easily, slipping from between them without the faintest idea of what Kohaku had been trying to do.

He let his hands fall to his sides limply; her perfume lingering on in his senses.

Miroku was already comfortably seated at the head of the hearth when the younger man entered the hut. A steaming cup of tea flanked by a simple earthen teapot sat in front of him.

Sango emerged from the other room, Kirara weaving in and around her ankles, a tray of delectables in her hands. "You must be hungry," she said, setting it in front of them both. "Dinner won't be ready for quite a while yet."

Kohaku eyed the tray; an assortment of mochi, plus other strange foods he identified as being from Kagome's world.

She watched as he tentatively picked up one of the mochi and popped it into his mouth. "Good?" she asked.

He nodded, chewing solemnly on the sticky, gooey treat. It was a lot sweeter than he recalled – and he could not even remember the last time he ate one – and although it was filled with sweet red bean paste, the taste evoked memories of cut grass and sunshine...

_A child's laughter. Stickygummy fingers. Pink and white. _

"When was the last time you remember me eating this?" Kohaku asked.

Her fingers stilled, hovering in midair over a colourful snack from Kagome's time. "When we were quite young." Sango's voice trembled a little; whether it was from sadness or excitement, it was impossible to tell. "Father had bought us a treat; we ate it outside on the hillside outside the village."

"Kohaku... are you remembering?"

The younger man swallowed the last of the mochi, letting the taste fade away along with the memories.

"To be completely honest, Ane-ue; it feels like it – and at the same time, not." He savoured the eager look on her face as she leaned closer; just as he had savoured the sweet richness of the mochi.

"What do you mean?"

"They aren't really memories." Kohaku picked up another piece of sticky rice cake but continued turning it over in his fingers instead of eating it. "Not in the usual way. I don't see the whole thing; just fragments, here and there."

"Does this happen often?" Miroku was also leaning forward now, his grave violet eyes trained on the younger slayer.

"Yes."

The monk smiled. "That's a good sign."

A warm hand on his wrist made Kohaku jump a little. Sango was smiling too – that smile of hers which never seemed to quite reach her eyes.

"I'm glad."

He laid his free hand over hers, turning it over and placing the now warmed mochi in her palm. Kohaku's fingertips grazed her skin ever so slightly.

He looked up and met her gaze. "So am I."

There must have been something in his eyes; Sango flushed abruptly and looked away.

The mochi remained, uneaten, in her hand. Kohaku seized the opportunity as Sango sipped her tea to glance over at Miroku.

The older man appeared strangely impassive; his face a blank granite slab. But Kohaku was a trained slayer, and caught the flash of emotion masked behind the veiled eyes. It was a laden silence that hung over the three as they ate.

Even Kirara felt it; she lifted her head, abandoning her afternoon nap to stare at her three humans in turn.

* * *

Despite years of traveling on Inuyasha's back, Kagome was having a hard time getting her bearings as the wind howled in her ears.

Scenery blurred past her, making it nearly impossible to identify any landmarks.

"Inuyasha, which are we doing first? Are we investigating Naraku's scent or are we getting Sango-chan, Miroku-sama and Kohaku-kun?" she shouted over the wind.

He was strangely silent; the hanyou bounded over a fallen tree and landed with a jolt which forced Kagome's words back down.

She leaned forward and repeated her question, right into one pointed ear.

"They're both in the same direction," grunted Inuyasha at last as he dodged a pitfall.

The schoolgirl sensed there was something more he was not telling her but she knew him well enough not to pry.

Shippou, however, was not easily satisfied.

"Oi, Inuyasha!" he yelled, taking hold of the other ear. "You're not telling us something!"

"Shut up, runt," he growled back.

Much to the little kitsune's surprise, Kagome pulled him closer to her. "Shippou-chan. Not now."

"Kagome?"

She absently tucked him under one arm; she had a bad feeling about the entire thing and was fervently hoping her suspicions would not be confirmed.

* * *

Miroku left the house the instant he judged it right to do so. He needed some air.

He had seen something he thought he would never see; what was worse, he knew it was intentional.

Kohaku was not Kohaku, he had already established; but precisely what was he?

The gesture was significant; the young man was sending him a clear message.

Miroku did not know whether to laugh at the absurdity of the situation or despair over the implications. _They are brother and sister_, his rational mind told him. _They have a special bond between them which is not your place to interfere with._

But when did it overstep the boundaries of sibling affection?

The monk felt unclean even thinking that, despite having no right to. Even the gods themselves loved without regard for blood ties; Izzanami and Izanagi, brother and sister, husband and wife, man and woman.

Their love transcended all things and gave birth to life.

But this was wrong, twisted, sick. No longer pure love; this was perverted love, improperly directed love.

And now he had reached this conclusion, the only thing that remained was getting Sango to see it.

He had broken many hearts in the past and thought little of it; it seemed to be karma that the woman whose heart he was going to shatter completely was the one who held his own.

* * *

Sango cleared away the dishes with shaking hands.

Something had happened; she had no idea what exactly, although she had a bad feeling about it.

She wondered whether she was overthinking the simple gesture of affection; Kohaku giving her the last mochi.

Innocent. Caring. Thoughtful.

But her heart screamed otherwise.

There was nothing innocent in the way he had looked at her; heat flickered in his gaze and danced on the tips of his fingers. The sheer deliberation of his movements; more languid and unhurried than the situation demanded.

The heat of his skin where it met her own in a sensual notembrace.

Caring in a way she never would have associated with her little brother; the baby cradled in clumsy smallchild arms, the toddler on unsteady feet, the boy gazing up at her with complete adoration.

Clear brown eyes that held nothing but love.

Why was it she was unable to meet his eyes now?

Thoughtful? Thoughts unrelated were stirred up when she looked at him; thoughts that disturbed her. Something was definitely wrong.

The only thing remaining was convincing herself to believe that.

* * *

Kohaku enjoyed the cool earth beneath his feet.

He had called, and she had responded – he was surprised, he had thought she would not.

Things were progressing at a pace that both excited and terrified him. "In the end, there will only be us two," he mumured under his breath. The graves of his people stared back; cold, silent.

"Just like it has always been."

A faint breeze picked up and ruffled his hair; leaves swirled around the quiet mounds.

* * *

Inuyasha skidded to a halt in front of the familiar imposing palisade.

Even though she had been dropped with little ceremony, Kagome said nothing, hoisting her quiver higher on her shoulder.

The oppressive, cloying sensation of death hung over the place as always; she bit down the little spring of hope that a healed family would have been able to lift the shroud.

"Sango-chan? Miroku-sama? Kohaku-kun?"

No sound, no answering reply.

Inuyasha, his face grim, drew Tetsusaiga.

And in a flash, Kagome saw –

– Naraku's final words –

– Kohaku's survival –

– his recovery –

– and the pieces fell into place with an ominous click.

"No," she gasped. Her heart raced in her chest.

Inuyasha's face was drawn; he motioned for her and Shippou to follow him as he climbed the hill. Together, they approached the fallen palisade gate.

The first things they saw was Kohaku's back; he sat cross-legged in front of the graves. His kusari-gama glittered in his hand; a whetstone made a regular grating noise as it slid back and forth over the scythe.

"Kohaku-kun?"

The young man half-turned and smiled.

"Kagome-sama, Inuyasha-sama, Shippou-chan."

The schoolgirl wavered visibly, her hand straying to the bow slung over her back. "Is everything alright?"

Kohaku's smile slipped a little as he took in the drawn Tetsusaiga and the tense looks on his friends' faces.

"We're fine. There's no youkai attacks or anything..." He trailed off apprehensively, his gaze fixed on the drawn sword.

"What's going on – Inuyasha? Kagome-sama?"

"Kagome-chan!"

Miroku and Sango dashed seemingly from nowhere; he from the vicinity, she from the hut. Both had their weapons out but promptly lowered them upon seeing their friends. Kirara bounded out at her mistress' heels, fur standing on end.

"Miroku-sama. Sango-chan." A part of Kagome was relieved; the other dreaded what was coming next.

Sango stared at Inuyasha. "Inuyasha, what are you doing?" Like Kohaku, she followed every movement of the blade but her eyes continually darted about her. Automatically she was assessing the situation, planning a strategy, choosing her points of attack...

"Don't bother, Sango," growled the hanyou out of the corner of his mouth. "I'm not going to hurt Kohaku – if he doesn't try anything."

"What – hurt Kohaku? What's going on?" Her grip on Hiraikotsu's strap turned white-knuckled.

Every muscle in Kirara's tiny body was rigid as she hissed – at Kohaku. "You smell it too, eh, Kirara?" asked Inuyasha.

"Kirara!" Sango stared disbelievingly.

The hanyou focused his attention back on Kohaku. "Put it down," he said, jerking his head at the kusari-gama in his hand.

"Inuyasha!"

Kagome placed a hand on Sango's shoulder, quietening further protest.

Miroku knew what was happening; yet he remained frozen to the spot, a helpless spectator to the scene playing out before his eyes.

Inuyasha fixed Kohaku with a stern look.

"I don't know what the hell's going on, but all of a sudden, you reek of Naraku."


	9. Nine: Slipping Into Shadow

Kohaku felt his mouth go dry. Naraku? _Him_?

"W – what? Inuyasha-sama?"

The hanyou's eyes narrowed further. "Keh – I don't know if this is another one of your acts, but you seem to be getting possessed most of the time, kid." His grip on Tetsusaiga's hilt tightened. "Drop your weapon or I'll cut your head off." Kagome turned a shade paler at that and clung to his sleeve. Shippou, unnoticed by any of them, clung in turn to Kagome's ankle. "Heck, I knew I should've gotten Kagome to take out that jewel shard earlier – "

"Inuyasha!" Sango was rigid with fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The hanyou opened his mouth – and shut it again with a snap, leaping to the side with Kagome in his arms; Hiraikotsu sliced through the air, close enough to have taken the skin off his nose if he had not moved.

"What the – "

The boomerang soared back into her hand as she darted in front of Kohaku, the other arm flung out protectively in front of him. "Naraku is dead!" yelled Sango.

"You were deliberately aiming for me, Sango," Inuyasha snarled. " But I'll let you get away with that just this once." He sheathed his sword, though his eyes remained trained on the pale boy behind her. Sango dropped her gaze, biting her lip."My nose doesn't lie. You know that. Kagome may have purified the jewel shard in Kohaku, but there could be some corruption remaining."

Before Sango could respond to the last remark, a soft jangle of rings signalled Miroku's rapid movement to her side. "Calm down, Inuyasha," he said quietly. "Shouting isn't going to solve anything."

"We killed that bastard!" exploded the hanyou. "But before he died..."

He let the sentence trail away, knowing what they were thinking of.

"_I merely granted Kohaku his dearest wish, monk, as his reward for his devoted service," sneered the baboon-suited man, angling the tip of his katana down. "I destroyed all of his memories – a little parting gift." The smirk stretched into a hideous grimace. "To remember me by." _

_But what really happened? Did Naraku truly destroy Kohaku-kun's memories? Or are they intact, suppressed by the remnants of Naraku's will? Does he... still live on in Kohaku-kun's shard?_ thought Kagome_. _She relinquished her hold on Inuyasha's sleeve. "Kohaku-kun," she began hesitantly. "Do you... remember anything at all?"

"Nothing," he answered. "Just bits and pieces so far, but nothing concrete."

Sango turned wild eyes on her friend. "Kagome-chan, do you feel anything evil from him? Do you sense Naraku's taint? Even after you purified the shard?"

The miko bit her lip.

"Kagome-chan..."

"Ane-ue."

Kohaku took a step forward. He was deathly pale – but his face was set with determination. "Let Kagome-sama purify me again – or anything else it takes to rid me of Naraku's taint. Even if I have to die – " Kohaku's expression wavered for an instant, revealing the boy beneath the man: " – to remove it permanently."

"Kohaku!" hissed Sango. "What are you saying?"

Inuyasha eyed him approvingly. "At least you got guts." The hanyou's gaze shifted and landed on Miroku. "Hey, Miroku, didn't you notice anything funny about Kohaku?"

The monk swallowed as the group's attention shifted to him; expectant, waiting, watching.

"Miroku?"

_Oh no. _He closed his eyes, deliberately not looking at Sango; his mind was already picturing the slightly bemused look on her face as she waited for him to agree with her, tell them _there was nothing wrong with Kohaku..._

"... I did notice something wasn't right," he began hesitantly, "But I didn't sense anything evil in him."

Everyone was stunned – too stunned to notice the sudden wariness which flitted across Kohaku's features. Unsurprisingly, Inuyasha was the first to recover.

"Keh. You knew something wasn't right with Kohaku all along and you never said a thing?" He glanced at an equally shocked Sango. "Not even to Sango?"

"I..."

"How long since you noticed, bouzu?"

Miroku's jaw clenched.

"... Since you three left for the slayers' village, am I right?" scowled the hanyou. Sango flinched.

"No!" The monk's shoulders shook from his outburst. "Kohaku was fine then. It was only later, when I noticed his behaviour was..." Miroku trailed off.

Sango was as white as he was; she looked as though she had been slapped.

"Strange?" Kagome was the one who spoke this time. Kohaku did his best not to fidget under her scrutiny; even a human like himself could feel her spiritual energy and his sister had told him of the young miko's power.

"On an extermination mission, Kohaku..." he searched for the words to lessen their impact, "didn't kill the youkai instantly. It was as though he was enjoying its death. Like a completely different person..." The monk chose to conceal the fact Kohaku had attacked him.

_As for the other strange behaviour... no. It must be my imagination. I'm seeing things, because that can't be right..._

Inuyasha snorted. "Stop mincing your words, Miroku. I've known you too long for that." Folding his arms, he addressed Sango. "You see? There definitely is something wrong with the kid."

She, however, was paying no attention to the hanyou; directing her next words to the monk, her voice was oddly devoid of inflection. "Miroku? You never told me you felt something strange about Kohaku?"

"I... didn't want to worry you." He winced internally, knowing how pathetic he sounded. "You were so happy to have him back..."

Sango strode over to him, her face set – and the air rang with a sharp crack. Miroku stumbled back a step; his fingers touched his rapidly reddening cheek.

"Ane-ue!"

"Sango-chan!"

"Sango!" squeaked Shippou.

The slayer's hand remained suspended in midair, hanging at the end of the arc it had travelled. "You couldn't even tell me you felt something was wrong." Unshed tears welled up in her eyes. "There isn't anything wrong with Kohaku!"

Miroku's head snapped up. "Sango – ?"

Her eyes were wild; somehow, the ribbon of her hair had slipped loose and Sango's hair fell over her face. "I would know if there was anything wrong with my own brother!"

"... What are you saying, Sango..."

"There. Is. Nothing. Wrong. With. Kohaku," she gritted out.

"Damnit, Sango, how much proof do you need – "

" – shut up, Inuyasha!" His ears twitched but he fell silent.

Kagome stretched out a placating hand to her friend. "Sango-chan... we know there's nothing wrong with Kohaku, it's probably just Naraku's lingering effect which I neglected to purify... he was possessed for a long time..."

Her words had a soothing effect on the enraged slayer; slowly, Hiraikotsu was lowered to the dirt. "I trusted you, Houshi-sama," said Sango quietly and he flinched. "Never would I have guessed you would be this kind of man."

She dropped Hiraikotsu, turned and fled. Dumbly, Miroku watched her go, her words hurting him far more than any slap ever had.

"Ane-ue!" Kohaku ran after her without a backward glance.

* * *

"Miroku-sama..."

He kept his face turned away from Kagome and Inuyasha. "Kagome-sama, Inuyasha. Maybe you can come back another day to purify Kohaku."

"O – of course." The young miko tugged on Inuyasha's sleeve, cutting off the beginnings of a protest. Shippou, who had been silent throughout, hopped into her arms.

"Are Sango and Kohaku going to be alright?" he asked.

She patted his head absently, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. "Certainly, Shippou-chan," Kagome reassured him. "They've gone through much worse; they're too strong to let something like this defeat them."

The little kitsune would not be easily placated. "And Miroku?"

"Miroku-sama will be fine too." Her voice slipped a few notches.

"Feh," interjected Inuyasha. But apparently that was all he had to say. He knelt down and let Kagome and Shippou clamber onto his back.

"You're sure you don't want to stay with Sango?" he asked abruptly.

He felt her shake her head against his shoulder. "No. I'm not the person Sango needs right now."

Inuyasha silently noted her lack of elaboration.

* * *

Sango had never felt such pain before. She felt utterly alone, more so than when she learned that when everyone she knew was dead; her home lay in burned and bloody ruins.

Betrayed by someone she loved more than life itself; how it stung.

Anger coursed through her veins; Sango kept on running. Miroku said he knew – Miroku saw something wrong with Kohaku, as did her friends. She had not. She saw only her little brother, scarred-but-mostly-healed-over from his time under Naraku's control; still very much the delicate, shy boy he was. He was her kid brother, the only person left in the world who adored her completely.

And Miroku had lied to her, to their friends, telling them Kohaku was not quite right.

_I know my own brother; Miroku does not!_

She stopped suddenly; her legs gave way and Sango fell splay-legged to the ground. Too hurt to cry, yet not strong enough to keep the tears from pooling in her eyes. She settled for drawing her knees to her chin, gripping them tightly enough to hurt.

Sango had spent time with him. They had ate together, fought together, tried to remember the past together. He had bandaged her wounds.

The slaying of the bear youkai... was a job well done. Father would have been proud of him, taking down a fearsome bear youkai even bigger than the ones she had faced at his age. Miroku had simply gotten too close while Kohaku was swinging his kusari-gama and gotten cut.

Her lips quirked. Yes, her little brother never had fully mastered his weapon. She could see him now, smashing clay pots as part of his training with his kusari-gama. The weapon was supposed to be one of the easiest to handle, according to Yoichi-sensei, the village's most skilled wielder. Kohaku sometimes mistimed the catch and it would gash his palm on its return. More often than not, his reflexes allowed to escape serious injury.

She had bound it for him. She always did. All the little scars which crisscrossed their bodies, marks of their lifestyle; he knew nearly all those on her, as she did on his. Patching each other after a long hard day, sharing news; she of her missions, he of his training progress. The nights were theirs to while away.

Never had Sango gotten more solid proof Kohaku was back, as though he had never been gone.

The slayer pushed herself to her feet, brushing away the tears roughly. _Yes. That was it. It was all so simple. _He cared so much about her, his big sister and mother in one.

"_Ane-ue! Ane-ue!"_

_Sango laughed and ran faster; the wind rushing in her ears easily drowned out the whines of her little brother. It was a beautiful day, not long after the harvest; both siblings, even young Sango who was showing so much promise in the art of demon slaying, had escaped their training with their father's blessing._

"_Make the best of it; such days might never come again," he had said, his weather-beaten face crinkling into a smile. "Now run along, the both of you. And come back before sunset."_

_She felt like a child again; there simply had not been many opportunities for it since their mother had passed away giving birth to Kohaku. Sango had no regrets. Life was hard but not cruel, and it only demanded they be strong to survive – and she was well on her way. Father had said so._

"_Ane-ue! A – aaah!"_

_She stopped. "Kohaku?"_

_He was sprawled on the ground, sniffling and clutching his knee. She and Kirara ran back to him._

"_Are you alright?"_

"_Yeah," he mumbled. His lower lip was trembling mightily from the effort of suppressing tears. She examined the cut solemnly – a small one, more of a scrape – and bound it with a piece of fabric torn from her kimono._

"_All better," Sango pronounced. She helped him to his feet. "Can you walk?"_

_Kohaku's face was screwed up as he gingerly tested his leg. "Yes. Ane-ue..."_

"_Hmm?"_

_He gazed up into her eyes; she was startled by the frankness in them. "Please don't ever leave me behind?"_

_The girl bit her lip. How true – it had been selfish of her to run ahead, thinking only of her own pleasure. Sango thought guiltily of her mother, and the promise she had made by her mother's side that day to always take care of her family. "... I'm sorry, Kohaku. I won't do that again. I promised Mother I'd always take care of you and Father."_

_The corners of his mouth lifted in a shy smile; his filthy, gritty hand fisted in the sleeve of her kimono._

It all made sense now. The way he was always touching her in ways siblings should never do, making her feel things siblings did not for each other; Kohaku was simply unable to express his love in other ways. Her beloved only brother who was shy and gentle and caring and loving and –

_Stop it._ Sango squeezed her eyes shut. She could not merely be Kohaku's big sister now; she was also Miroku's love – his fiancee. His betrothed. She had other duties besides that which she had been entrusted with.

Miroku would just have to understand; she had duties. Responsibilities.

* * *

Kohaku picked his way through the forest – not entirely sure Sango had come through this way, but still trudging on nonetheless.

A secret smile played at the corner of his mouth. His sister had came through for him; she had denied anything was wrong before her friends, before her fiancé.

So she remembered that old loyalty. It had always been just the two of them before, and it looked like it was well on its way to staying that way.

He was genuinely puzzled about Inuyasha's claim that Naraku's taint lurked within him. Kagome's reasoning also had been entirely plausible; she was certainly the astute miko he had sensed. But even then, there were some things they were unaware of; even his sister and the monk remained in the dark.

Kohaku had not spent his time solely as Naraku's mindless slave, emotional blackmail hostage and occasional plaything. The evil hanyou had barely enough power to reanimate Kohaku at the time, let alone obtain full and complete control.

Sometime around Sango's theft of Tetsusaiga and Naraku's defeat, he had gained some awareness. The corrupted jewel shard controlled his actions, undoubtedly, but Kohaku was alive and feeling.

The young man remembered feeling... _strong_.

The jewel shard was a sizable one; it not only restored life, it also enhanced Kohaku's speed and natural agility. He no longer felt clumsy and awkward handling the kusari-gama. He tired less easily – somehow he remembered – and could carry greater burdens. Kohaku only began to hate when innocent humans fell before his gleaming blade – and his mind was powerless to stop it. Every screaming woman, every shouting man, they had his father's and sister's faces. The young slayer did not know it was them, of course.

Rather than resurrected, the young slayer considered himself reborn once full identity returned. Stronger, faster, better.

Purified, the jewel shard was more powerful than ever; Kohaku touched the skin of his neck over where it resided. He was a little surprised that Inuyasha had not cut out the shard – but remembered his dear sister.

She would never let anyone touch her little brother.

He needed a rest. Kohaku leaned against a tree and tossed his head back, enjoying the cool breeze that filtered through the trees.

So things were going his way; Sango and Miroku had been driven apart, and they in turn split from Inuyasha and Kagome. The best part was Miroku had dug his own grave. Kohaku frowned. The monk was cleverer than expected.

But then again, the young man's tactics were hardly the most subtle – especially when done blatantly, under the nose of the monk.

People in love were so easy to manipulate and play off; Naraku had taught him a valuable lesson.

The slayer stood upright and brushed off his clothing. "Time to find Ane-ue," he said aloud. "I hope Miroku didn't get there first..."

A surge of anger welled up; he wheeled and punched a hole right through the tree he had been leaning against. Kohaku did not even give it a second glance as it creaked ominously, focusing his senses...

_There. Not far. _He took off at an inhuman speed, careful to slow it down as he approached.

"Ane-ue!"

Her legs were sprawled in the grass, her long brown hair curtaining her face and back; Kohaku had never thought her more beautiful.

He skidded to a halt before her. "Ane-ue, are you alright?" he asked breathlessly. At least the concern in his voice was real.

"Kohaku," she said in mild surprise. His sister's eyes seemed unfocused; he remembered it was the way she looked when deep in thought. "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Sango shook her head. "I'm fine."

His fingers tightened momentarily – and Kohaku nodded. "I'm glad," he whispered, putting his other arm around her, completing the hug. "Ane-ue... about earlier..."

Her eyes flashed fire as she absently returned his embrace. "They don't understand, Kohaku – they can't. Naraku is long dead, there's no way he could have lived on in you..." Sango's voice wavered a fraction. "There's... nothing you wanted to tell me? Kohaku – are you really fine?"

The younger slayer saw the shimmering uncertainty in her beautiful eyes. "Of course not, Ane-ue." He patted the back of her head and smiled. "You and Houshi-sama and the others killed Naraku and broke his control over me. I'm back, Ane-ue."

She bit her lip. "The jewel shard... sooner or later the jewel will be complete. If we take out your shard..."

Kohaku looked away. "I'll... have no regrets then, Ane-ue. I already died, those years ago in the lord's castle. My death will atone for the atrocities I committed..."

"No, Kohaku!" Sango seized his arms and shook. "I won't let you leave me again! I – promised Mother I'd take care of you and Father always... now that Father is gone, I only have you..." The tears finally began to fall. "Remember that day – when I promised you I'd never leave you behind? You wouldn't leave me behind either, won't you?"

In that instant, he saw not the strong, powerful warrior she was and he longed to be, but the tear-stained little girl determined to shoulder the too-heavy burden life had saddled her with, even if it killed her. Tears of his own formed in his eyes.

"I... I killed Father and our comrades, Ane-ue, and as good as killed our village and way of life. It isn't right for me to go on living while they are dead by my hand – "

" – please." Sango rested her head on his shoulder. "I don't think I can handle being alone again."

"You won't be alone. You'll have Houshi-sama."

"He isn't you!" she burst out, and then bit her lip as though regretting her words. "Miroku isn't you, Kohaku," Sango repeated in a quieter voice. "It – isn't the same... I can't love him the way I love you; you're my only little brother, the last family I have left..."

Kohaku spoke in even, level tones, as though speaking to a very small child. "You'll marry Houshi-sama, and start a family of your own with him. You'll bear him many children, sons and daughters, and you'll rebuild the slayers' village and carry on our family's legacy together."

Sango's hair flew about as she shook her head furiously. "Kohaku, stop! I can't do it without you, don't you understand?" Her hands fisted almost painfully in the short cloth of his kimono. "I need you. I won't let them take the shard from you."

He choked out a laugh. "Ane-ue – you realise Inuyasha-sama and Kagome-sama won't be happy – "

"They'll understand. They need to see that I need you, Kohaku."

Kohaku smiled a secret smile over the top of Sango's head.


	10. Ten: Unravel

**Author's Note: **This chapter (and to a significantly lesser degree, the entire story) owes a great deal to the amazing **Wheezambu**. Her story _Brittle _was a massive inspiration; I'm just following up on the premise she set.

* * *

To say that Miroku was regretting his words that morning was grossly oversimplifying the matter. He hated hurting Sango, loathed himself for making her so distraught; but something was not right with Kohaku, and it was his duty to expose it.

_He owed it to the both of them._

She hated deceit – she would want the truth, regardless of how much it hurt.

_It had to be done._

But then again, was the truth, at the expense of Sango's happiness really worth it?

Part of him wanted to find Sango, to apologize, to do anything he could to stop the tears from falling. Once upon a not-so-distant time, all it had took to calm her were his reassurances; how he longed for that simplicity now.

It seemed that none of them were able to sever their fate with Naraku, not even after his death. The monk fervently hoped this was the last time the evil hanyou would blight their lives.

Their lives, the happy-ever-afters Miroku had not expected to live to see – not even to experience.

With the years that had been added with the dissipation of Naraku's curse, he was free to follow the winding road to the old age that awaited him at its end. There had been so much he wanted to do at first – the multitudes of possible lives he could lead.

Miroku now knew for sure he wanted to spend the years at Sango's side, because that was where true happiness was.

Did he really want to admit it to himself – Kohaku and his odd behaviour was destroying his personal happiness? It was so coldly selfish, it scared him.

Miroku may have lied for his own benefit, swindled wealthy men out of their money, seduced many a village girl with honeyed words, but he was not an evil man.

_I hope.  
_

_

* * *

_

"Ane-ue, the sun is setting."

She lifted her head; orange streaks painted the sky in broad strokes. "Yes... we should be getting back." He stood up and offered her his hand. Sango accepted it gratefully.

"What about Houshi-sama?"

Her face closed off instantly. Kohaku took the silence as his response.

"Ane-ue, you should go back and rest. I'll find Houshi-sama."

Before she could say anything, he touched her cheek and strode off into the darkening forest. She took a moment to stare after him, wondering when the shy boy had been replaced with the strong young man.

* * *

Kohaku knew precisely where the monk was; his houriki was easy enough to track. Even without the strong spiritual aura, he knew the curling tendrils of despair and suffering well enough.

"Houshi-sama."

The monk was seated against the base of a tree, his eyes closed. "Kohaku."

"Ane-ue sent me to fetch you home; even though she won't admit it, she's worried about you," commented the young taijiya, squatting down in front of the older man.

Miroku opened his eyes and smiled ruefully. "I'm always hurting her, aren't I?" His face was gaunt, aging him more than his twenty-odd years.

"You're too hard on yourself, Miroku-sama."

He got to his feet slowly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Drop the act, Kohaku," Miroku said sharply, not looking at him. "Sango isn't around to watch."

"I could say the same for you." The full transformation was terrifying, now that the monk was faced with it. Gone was the hesitant, shy voice; this Kohaku held himself with a confident swagger, his voice cold and emotionless.

"Who are you?" demanded Miroku.

He raised an eyebrow. "Me? I'm Kohaku, my future _brother-in-law_," the words were delivered with just a touch of acid, "who else could I be?"

"You're not Kohaku. The real Kohaku isn't the monster you are."

"Of course I am, Miroku," breathed the taijiya in a low, dangerous voice. The dropped honorific was not lost on the monk. "Who else_ would_ I be_?_"

"You remind me of Naraku," spat the monk, his fingers slipping into his robe, searching for the ofuda he kept there.

Kohaku folded his arms over his chest. "Naraku? Like what the other two insisted? That's a little far fetched for you – obsessed with the bastard after all those years of hunting him? ... And don't bother looking for your ofuda, they won't affect me."

Miroku froze.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," continued the taijiya in that same silky tone of voice. "Being jealous of a sister's love for her only brother. You want to get rid of me, don't you?" Kohaku folded his arms, leaning casually against a tree. "Once the annoying little brother is out of the picture, you won't have to share your woman with anyone else, ne?"

"For the last time, _you are not Kohaku!_" Quick as lightning, an ofuda shot out of the monk's hand and plastered itself to the boy's forehead. Blue fire danced around the paper as he emitted a sound of surprise –

– then it burned out, the paper sliding to the grass. Kohaku watched it fall with a bored expression.

"Honestly. You should know ofuda doesn't work on humans."

The monk's eyes widened. "What?"

He smiled lazily, fingering the blade of the kusari-gama that hung on his obi. "Spiritual power only works on youkai and spirits."

The muscles in Miroku's jaw worked. "But – Inuyasha smelt Naraku – Kagome sensed his youki – "

"Let's just say I learned a few tricks while in Naraku's service – though not his penchant for complicated, elaborate plots." He reached into his kimono and drew out a small jar. When he uncapped it a fraction, Miroku felt the familiar oppression of miasma... Kohaku snapped the lid shut. "A little bit of corrupted flesh, just enough to send a paranoid hanyou into convulsions and to make a foolish monk show his hand."

"Ingenious."

The taijiya pulled out his weapon, spinning it lazily. "I could kill you now, in a heartbeat, Miroku; or I could maim you for life, add another hole to that hand of yours – tell Ane-ue a youkai attacked us." His voice turned sibilant. "You were blinded by rage, regret... you didn't see that youkai coming until it wounded you. But I, arriving in the nick of time, managed to slay it."

His weapon spun from hand to hand, twirling expertly."You can say all you want, say your version of events. But who do you think Ane-ue would believe?"

The monk's face contorted with anger. "Bastard."

"She will believe anything I say, naturally," continued Kohaku as though Miroku had not spoken. "She loves me." He ran his tongue over the edge of the kusari-gama. "And I love her."

Miroku lost it. He threw a punch; the taijiya dodged. He was fast – the monk, experienced as he was, could barely kIeep up.

"Tell me, Miroku, how much do you know?" He sidestepped through the flurry of attacks the older man was unleashing without a trace of exertion. "If you're lucky, I won't be killing you now."

"Shut up!" grunted the monk.

Kohaku dodged both easily and darted backward. "Not bad, monk," he remarked as his opponent sank into a stance. "Looks like you've picked up a few tricks from Ane-ue."

"Enough to stop you before you hurt Sango any more," growled Miroku. "I won't let this continue."

"Oh?" The taijiya stepped back blocking the flurry of punches thrown at him. "What are you going to do, kill me?"

Miroku swore as another high kick was easily caught. Kohaku – or the mockery of him – was right. If he let the boy live, he would continue hurting them all, drawing Sango deeper into sin. But if he were to die by his hand there and then...

Everything he believed in, the principles he held dear... gone. Beyond that – Sango would be devastated because she did not know the truth. Actually, she would be devastated regardless; she loved this semblance of her brother.

The monk was disgusted with himself for even thinking that she would be broken. His Sango was strong, stronger than he could ever hope to be. She had survived tragedies and trials that would have broken lesser humans and came out as fiery as ever – they had only served to temper her spirit. Sango would survive his death; both of their deaths.

Mind made up, Miroku's fists tightened. "I swear I will kill you now. I don't care if Sango blames me; I would rather she hate me for the rest of her life than know the truth about you. I won't let you continue deceiving her in this way."

"Sounds like a challenge." Kohaku brandished his kusari-gama, an eager smile on his lips. "What will you tell her about my death, then? Another one of your pretty lies?"

The monk charged. His first blow was thwarted by a swipe of the deadly scythe; Miroku pivoted and used his momentum to shoulder-charge the taijiya's unprotected arm. His opponent moved too slow – the force threw him off- balance and he sacrificed the moment of Miroku's exposed flank to regain his footing.

"Not bad," smirked the boy as he avoided another strike. "Improvisation, distraction, pressing the advantage relentlessly – classic taijiya tactics. "

"Sango is an excellent teacher."

The fight continued, neither combatant letting up; Miroku risked his arm by penetrating a gap in Kohaku's defences and grasping the boy's wrist. He twisted it hard, hoping to make him drop his kusari-gama –

– the taijiya grinned. "Did you think my skills were that poor?"

Another flash of metal and Miroku fell back, blood trickling from a shallow cut on his cheek. A small dagger had appeared in Kohaku's free hand.

"Taijiya are never caught off-guard and we fight to kill. Remember that."

Miroku wiped the blood away and got to his feet again; sinking into a cat stance, he pushed the burgeoning despair to the back of his mind and focused on his adversary.

Kohaku struck first; the kusari-gama flew in a high arc, almost taking off the skin of Miroku's neck had he not jerked his head backwards. His hand flew into his robes, searching the pockets for anything he could use as a weapon –

– the young man dove in for the kill –

– a flash of steel had him falling back –

– Kohaku touched the side of his cheek disbelievingly; the small carving knife in Miroku's hand had scored a nasty gash there.

"Didn't think you had it in you," he remarked, dabbing the sluggish flow with the back of his hand. "At this point, I would have wagered you be on your back, begging for your life." The taijiya stared at his bloodied fingers and licked them. "I'll let you in on a little secret."

"Humour me," muttered Miroku.

"The boy, Kohaku? The cringing coward you all risked your lives to save? He's still alive."

The monk's eyes flashed; he tried to school his features into impassivity. "He's dead. You killed him."

"No, he isn't."

Miroku scrutinized him carefully; the spark of insanity which lit up his eyes earlier had gone, leaving Kohaku's eyes sober and serious. Just like he remembered, except now with the light of intelligence.

"Where is he?" he asked at last.

The taijiya flattened a hand over his own chest. "Here." The other arm spread out. "You could cut me open and save him right this minute, if you wanted."

The monk narrowed his eyes, directing his houriki; if Kohaku's soul was somehow imprisoned inside his body, surely there was a way to detect it and save him...

"Confused?' enquired the younger man. "I am Kohaku – and at the same time, I'm not. Naraku did this to me; he changed me, did things that would drive you mad, deprive you of sleep."

"I could still think – I clung on to my memories of my life before to keep me going. But after a while, you tend to forget... the pain makes you want to give up, to find some corner of blissful oblivion in which to conceal yourself. You would give up anything – everything for that."

"The memory of Ane-ue was the only thing that kept me going. Through the torture, I maintained my sanity with thoughts of her, how I loved my Ane-ue. Naraku didn't destroy my memory the day he died; it was a bluff. He was too selfish to spare that power. It didn't matter anyway, I already lost them a long time ago."

Cold ice gripped Miroku's heart.

"To answer your question, Miroku; I am Kohaku. I'm alive – the Shikon jewel shard would do no less. I will die when it's removed, but I know Sango won't let the others do that to her precious brother."

The young man's face twisted; his handsome features distorted. "Free me, damn you! Release my soul; take out the jewel shard!"

Kohaku's face stilled as a sudden thought struck him. "Of course you won't kill me. It goes against everything you believe in, eh, Miroku? All that religious Buddhist shit of yours." He began to laugh. "You're damned if you do, damned if you don't!"

The monk's continued silence seemed to please him.

"Decisions, decisions. No doubt you've faced many major decisions in your life, Miroku-sama, though I wager none as heavy as these. Debating over which winsome young village girl to bed for the night, perhaps."

"Your lies don't work on me," shot back Miroku testily. He received a cocked head in reply.

"True. You've told so many, you probably don't even know the difference between lies and truth any more." The taijiya pushed back his fringe. "So what will you do now, monk?"

Miroku squared his shoulders. There was only one thing he could do, and he began moving without hesitation.

_Forgive me, Sango..._

_

* * *

_

Miroku cried out as his left arm was slashed open; he fought to keep himself moving past the pain. Kohaku was so much faster, stronger and more skilled than he remembered. He might have been able to hold out with his shakujou, but unarmed...

Kohaku lazily swung the bloodied kusari-gama in a wide arc. "Just a short while, and you're already wounded. You're the man who spent his life in pursuit of Naraku? Heh. You're just a weak, pathetic excuse for a monk."

He bent over, seized the front of Miroku's robes and hauled him upright effortlessly. "Womanizer and lecher, that's all you are."

The monk grunted as he was flung into a tree, tearing his wounds open wider. The taijiya followed after, flipping him over onto his back with his foot.

"I don't know how Ane-ue fell in love with scum like you. Your pretty lies, no doubt. You think I didn't see, those months back when I was supposedly under Naraku's control?"

The bare foot ground into Miroku's chest. "You're lower than scum. You could – and I think you did – have any woman you wanted, but you went for the one woman who couldn't afford to fall in love... a broken, scarred woman inside and out. You seduced her with your frivolous words and ambiguous actions, showed her what true pain really was. You preyed on her, Miroku. And to everyone else, you were the saint looking out for the pitiful girl fighting to save her brother when all you really are is the weak, pathetic monk with nothing but the love of a woman too good for you."

Every cold statement was delivered with a cut; Miroku grimaced and struggled to stay alert. He aimed a weak blow to his opponent's leg which was easily deflected.

"I saw everything when Naraku sent me to scout, spy on your group, to lay traps for you. I watched you flirt with village girls while Ane-ue covered up her broken heart with anger and jealousy – because she could not bring herself to hate you, no matter what you did. I saw when you groped her – deceiving everyone, including yourself, that you were being noble and not wanting to make her suffer along with your cursed lineage by seeing you as anything but a comrade-in-arms. You were cowardly, never openly returning the affection she so blatantly showed you because "you didn't want to hurt her."." Kohaku's voice was a pitch-perfect imitation of Miroku's.

"No... you're wrong," snarled Miroku, seizing the taijiya's calf and hurling him away; he flipped and landed neatly on his feet.

"You treated her like your personal sex toy. Groping, spying; she was a body to you because you daren't look at Kagome for fear of being castrated by the halfbreed. Always available, and you could coax your way back into her good graces because she needed the comfort and support 'Houshi-sama' provided. Any other woman would have left for good – not Ane-ue, because she had nowhere else to go. And you took advantage of that, Miroku."

"Doesn't it feel good to be loved unconditionally for the first time in your pathetically short life? Taking her all for yourself, stringing her along to make sure she'd stay at your beck and call? Trying to replace me in her heart?"

"But I had to regain my memories. I can see it in your eyes; you were hoping I'd die so Sango could finally accept my death and move on to begin a happy family with you."

"I know a lot more than you think; I know she told that Takeda she needed to finish that _one thing_ to move on in life. The one obstacle in both your ways."

Miroku turned away, face ashen. _None of this is true,_ he kept telling himself over and over again. _Kohaku is just trying to break my spirit with his lies. I did nothing wrong._

But still the tears kept falling from his eyes; it mingled with his blood in rivulets on his skin.

Kohaku's jaw hardened. "And yet she still loves you. Despite everything you've done, damn you to hell, she loves you." His grip on his weapon turned white-knuckled. "I can't let this farce of a romance go on – you understand, don't you, Miroku?" The tajiya fingered the crusted blood on the blade. "I can be and already am a better man for her than you could ever hope to be."

The monk turned cold eyes on him. "You're her _little brother_, damn you..."

He was rewarded with an unholy smile. "All the better – it makes us two so much closer than a normal couple ever could be..."

Miroku forced himself upright through sheer force of will; he darted forward, driving his leg at Kohaku's midsection –

– the young man 'oof'ed as the wind was knocked out of him.

The monk pressed the offensive; anger drove him in wild kicks, punches and chops to every exposed part he could reach. Kohaku defended himself the best he could with his kusari-gama but Miroku seemed not to feel every new cut opened up –

– then it was over. The taijiya lay on his back, panting; Miroku stood over him, the bloodied scythe in his hand.

Kohaku smirked. "Go on, Miroku-sama," he grinned through his split lip. "Kill me. End your suffering."

The monk did not respond; his violet eyes were black.

"With my death, you'll have Ane-ue all to yourself. You'll spare her the knowledge of the twisted, disturbed madman her gentle little brother really was. You can be happy – she could still smile, knowing I was a puppet in Naraku's clutches, couldn't she?"

"Shut up!" roared the older man; his fingers were trembling.

The taijiya touched his forehead. "Right here. Drive that blade here, between my eyes, and end this." Defiant eyes stared up from his bruised face.

As though sleepwalking, Miroku raised the kusari-gama overhead. The young man stared fearlessly back, following the motion with his eyes.

The monk hurled the weapon away; it bit into a tree trunk with a thud.

Kohaku frowned. "Weakling." He was on his feet in an instant, his hands whipping the small dagger out of his belt and driving it into Miroku's stomach.

The monk made a choking sound as he stumbled back; he backhanded Kohaku, knocking him away. Miroku dropped to one knee as he pulled the dagger out.

The taijiya leered. "So this is how it ends. You were always a weakling, Miroku. You'll regret not killing me when you had the chance– that is, if you survive."

He ignored the mocking words, suddenly aware of all the cuts and gashes he had sustained; his tattered robes were slick with his blood and he had not noticed. Miroku slumped to the ground.

"I would stay to watch you die, but I have urgent business to attend to." Kohaku spat a bloody gob out. "Ane-ue is lonely."

"Damn you..." Miroku's vision was mostly gone, but he tried anyway; his hand reached out, struggling to pull himself up. Kohaku responded by impaling it with his dagger.

"Here's the new hole in the hand I promised," he breathed into the dying man's ear. "Goodbye, Miroku."

The last thing he heard was the gentle crunch of footsteps receding into the distance.


	11. Eleven: Taboo :lemon:

**Author's Note: **This is where this story earns its M rating (a few times over)... contains incest and lemony content, feel free to skip this chapter if it squicks you. Thanks.

* * *

Sango was growing worried. Angry as she was with Miroku, she was still desperately worried about him. She had slapped him...

He was probably just worried about her – goodness knew, he always was. Miroku had probably just misconstrued her interactions with Kohaku as something darker, deeper, more wrong.

She was not quite ready to agree with him.

But remorseful as she was, his betrayal still hurt. The taijiya went to the kitchen to fetch herself a drink. "Where is that pouch of tea we have around here..." she mumbled to herself. Her hand brushed against a strange, smooth object. Puzzled, Sango pulled it out.

It was a bottle of sake.

"Sake?" She frowned, trying to remember the last time they had bought it. She guessed eventually that Miroku had bought it while out on an extermination.

It would do. Sango did not consider herself a drinker; on the rare occasions she drank during the quest for Naraku, a few cups made her tipsy and Kagome had promptly stopped her from drinking, sensing nothing good would come out of a drunk taijiya.

_To hell with that now._

She broke the seal, poured a small amount into the tiny saucer and knocked it back with a grimace. It was good-quality stuff – Miroku knew his way around alcohol – but it burned her throat as it went down, and Sango chalked it up to not having drank in a long time.

After a few more cups, the burning sensation at the back of her throat subsided into a dull prickle. Sango felt warm inside, and the hurt was becoming a little hazy.

The young woman sighed, downing yet another cup. So this was why people drank. Wetness cascaded down her face – but she did not recall crying, not in that sense; she felt none of the pain in her chest she usually got when she cried.

* * *

"Ane-ue?"

Sango sat bolt upright, hastily rubbing her face dry. Kohaku's lean body was framed in the doorway, worry in his eyes.

"Kohaku! Your face – what happened?"

He made his way to her side, arms embracing her shoulders, pulling her forehead to his chest. Her protests were effectively silenced. "Sshh, Ane-ue. It's alright now, I won't let anyone hurt you any more." The young man lowered his face to her hair; she smelt of sake and tears. Not a good combination, but it could easily be turned to his advantage... A wicked glint entered his eye. "Ane-ue, have you been drinking?"

"Mmm. Just a bit." Something in his voice startled her; she pushed a little at his firm grip. "I – Kohaku, what do you mean? There's – fresh blood all over your clothes – " Sango stared at the sticky wetness on her palm. " – Miroku, is he alright, where is he – " She stumbled to her feet, only to fall back down against him.

The young man looked down, arranging his features into a tender expression. "I haven't been a good brother; I haven't been protecting you like I should have. You've been looking after me for so long, now I'm almost a man, I should take care of you."

She parted her lips slightly, as though wanting to say something but he rested a finger on her lips, closing her mouth quickly. All her instincts were buzzing, telling her _something was wrong_ but Sango was strangely numb; she felt like she was drifting, unable to focus on any thought.

"I'm unharmed – so is Houshi-sama," he told her gently. "We were attacked by a stray youkai. Houshi-sama is taking care of its burial – to prevent the blood from attracting other youkai, as you know."

"Houshi-sama was worried about you being home alone and asked me to come home first." The younger taijiya patted his sister's hand.

She attempted a sigh of relief which came out a drunken moan. "You've grown up so fast," she said eventually, wrapping her arms unsteadily around his back.

Kohaku's heart thrilling, he cupped the back of her head with the palm of one hand. "I know." He shifted his weight so she lay almost in his lap, cradled securely in his body. Sango's body was fully relaxed against him, her eyes fluttering shut as she began to nod off.

"I'll always protect you," he whispered against her ear.

"Mmph." She pushed herself off him a little unsteadily, rubbing her face with the heel of her hand. "I must be more tired than I thought I would be."

"Go to sleep, then," he said, padding over to the cupboard where they kept the bedding. "You've had a long day."

"But...Miroku..."

"He'll be coming any moment," he soothed. "You need to sleep off the sake. Houshi-sama'll be here when you wake up tomorrow."

"Kohaku..." she murmured. Her fingers clenched in the loose fabric of his clothing; he fought to keep the smirk of his face.

"What is it, Ane-ue?"

"... Don't go."

He dropped back down, folded his arms around her waist and let her snuggle into the crook of his neck. "I'm not going anywhere - Is something wrong, Ane-ue?" he inquired soliticiously. "I know Houshi-sama said some hurtful things this afternoon..."

"I'm fine." She hiccoughed. "Is it that bad? I must look a mess."

"Not a mess; just a little tired." Kohaku combed back her fringe with his fingers. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sango hesitated.

He smiled. "I understand. Here – " The young man lifted his sister easily and walking over to her futon, laid her on it. "Sleep."

The young woman mumbled something incoherent. Kohaku bent down and kissed her flushed forehead – even dead drunk, she was beautiful.

His lips lingered over heated skin; _dared he even – ?_

The young man slowly grazed over Sango's eyelids, the bridge of her nose; his lips came to rest, pressing gently against her own.

Blood thundered in his ears at this forbidden contact. Cautiously, Kohaku's tongue traced the curve of her mouth and his hands came up to cup her face –

Sango's body arched and a moan escaped her. Her eyes fluttered open blearily. "Kohaku – ?"

He took advantage of it to slip his tongue inside her mouth, probing her own tentatively. Sango tasted of sake and something sweet he could not quite identify – but kissing her had been as exciting as his fantasies were. She was kissing him back, the movements of her tongue and lips growing bolder – her hands snaked around his neck to pull him closer. Kohaku readily responded, one hand cradling her jaw, stroking the soft skin.

Kohaku broke the kiss, both for air and to watch her expression; Sango's eyes were closed again. "... Ane-ue?"

"Kohaku..."

She leaned forward, pressing her mouth against his again. A jolt of excitement ran through him; _she knew, she wanted this as well..._

"My Ane-ue," he muttered against her lips, dragging his hand down her neck. His fingers brushed her chest and she moaned again. "I love you." He tugged her sleeping kosode open, baring her breasts.

"My beautiful sister." Kohaku took one nipple into his mouth, suckling and teasing the tender flesh with his tongue; he was more confident now. Her hot breath in his ear; she was gasping, panting, sighing...

"You don't know how long I've been wanting this." He slipped his hand into her kosode and rested it on her hip. One finger traced the scars that mapped the skin there, alternately tickling and stroking. There was a sharp intake of breath; Sango's hand gripped his face almost painfully. He chuckled, deft fingers untying her obi and pulling the kosode from her. Her naked form exposed to his eyes, Kohaku drank in the sight of her.

"Years, Ane-ue. Years. Since I was a boy, and you were already my universe." His hand traveled lower and found her dripping wet and ready for him. His other hand reluctantly let go of her breast and pulled open his own clothes, letting his penis spring out. Impatiently, he shed the entire garment, flinging it over to join Sango's.

"I was so lonely then and you didn't notice me." He hovered over her, his hands supporting his weight on either side of her body. The tip of his manhood grazed her sex and Sango arched upwards.

"But now I'm a man; you finally noticed me." His lips twitched; he was willing to postpone his own pleasure in favour of hers. Kohaku put his fingers down there, stroking furiously. She ground her hips into his hand, rapidly soaking it in her juices.

"I loved you more than a sister, even at that tender age." The words were getting harder to speak; he was panting himself from watching his sister writhe in pleasure under his ministrations. His fingers found her clitoris and began massaging. Sango mewled, her pelvis thrusting upwards.

"I know everything about you; things your monk can't even begin to imagine." Kohaku withdrew his hand and bent down; the instant his tongue touched her folds, Sango moaned his name. Licking, sucking, tasting every inch of her – Kohaku was dizzy with exhilaration. He had obtained the ultimate prize at long last; the things he had done, the atrocities committed, the tears caused; he would go through it all again for this moment.

"And I love each and everything about you." She cried out as she climaxed; Kohaku lapped up her juices eagerly. He shifted his body, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss; the taste of her inside and outside his mouth, which coated his tongue drove his senses afire. "Kohaku, please..." she moaned, and he was ever ready to oblige.

"Always." He grasped her legs under his arms; they were both ready. The young man teased her, his hands caressing her thighs, his penis rubbing against her opening until she seized it and directed it in. A gasp escaped his lips at the feel of her small fingers gripping his length.

Kohaku thrust once; felt her cry out in response, felt the fragile barrier break. He smirked; his sister was a virgin, and he was the one to deflower her; not that monk. Her nails raked the skin of his back as his arms cradled her shoulders, holding them together. The sensation of her muscles tightening around him – so very tightly – was sending him into euphoria and conscious thought was hard to maintain. Her beautiful long brown hair – the exact same shade as his own – fanned out behind her head like a pillow. His goddess.

They moved as one, the thrusts becoming steadily more rhythmic. Kohaku marveled – even through the waves of pleasure coursing through his body – how perfectly they fit together.

He knew they would, being of the same flesh and blood.

"Kohaku..." Sango moaned again, and he moved to kiss her.

"Shh." He bent his head to nip on her breast, his hands massaging and rubbing the other. They were still joined and he felt no desire to break that intimate contact. Her body bucked against his, demanding more; her hands were fisted in his hair. Kohaku kept up the rocking motion, shuddering with every movement inside.

Sango's eyes were heavy-lidded, clouded over with passion and lust. It was hard to tell how lucid she was – not that Kohaku cared. She was now his in every way, and that was all that mattered.

He planted wet kisses all over every inch of exposed skin he could reach, until finally they both climaxed; he for the first time, she again. Sango's fingers gripped him tightly, holding on for dear life.

His flaccid length slipped easily out from her; they lay facing each other, both red-faced and gasping for air. As much as Kohaku wanted it to never end, to hold her in his arms and bask in the sticky-sweet afterglow of sex, he was afraid. Afraid it might be a dream, that any moment he might wake up and find her as remote as ever.

Kohaku did not have to worry about Miroku walking in on them.

Throwing caution to the winds, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, feeling gratified when Sango muttered something and snuggled into him.

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you." When the woman in his arms did not respond, he angled his head down to look at her face.

Sango had fallen sound asleep, her head resting in the crook of his neck, the combination of alcohol and sex having taken its toll on her. Smiling, Kohaku closed his eyes and followed her.

* * *

The younger taijiya awoke with a start; he had been having a pleasant dream about his sister. They were having sex, only this time she was fully awake and willing, without the influence of alcohol... Her full soft lips were parted as she moaned under him, screaming his name in throes of passion...

"Good morning, Ane-ue," he said, brushing her cheek with his fingers. She slept on, dead to the world.

_Ah. To know it was not merely a dream..._

It was still dark out. Laughing, the younger taijiya scooped his sister into his arms, carrying her down to the well, ladling water over her sweaty body. He could not resist stealing a kiss on the way there.

He redressed her in the slightly rumpled kosode, his hands feather-light over her skin, lingering a little over the scar on her back. Regret furrowed his face.

"I'm sorry, Ane-ue."

Kohaku pulled the covers up over her peaceful form; with a last look, he left for the river for a good soak. The frigid water would do wonders for the raging erection which had sprung up again.

Fully immersed in the icy waters, the young man found it impossible to keep the smile from his face; Sango was his again, taken back from the monk. They were siblings, friends, lovers... the bond between them was undeniable, perfect. She returned his feelings and made him whole with her acceptance.

Shrugging on his kimono, he returned to the village at a leisurely pace. Tired as he was, Kohaku had no intention of sleeping, because it would make the entire thing feel as though it was just a dream.

But then again, entering the hut and gazing at the beautiful face of his angel – he smiled, taking out his own futon and lying down. A nap would not hurt...

* * *

Sango's eyes fluttered open - and squeezed shut again. Sunlight drilled into her aching head. She felt... sick. Hungover. How much sake had she consumed before crawling over to bed and passing out?

Strangely enough, she was not merely suffering from a headache; her muscles ached as well. When she moved her legs, it felt deliciously sore down there...

The taijiya had never been drunk before – idly, she wondered whether this was one of the side effects of consuming her weight in sake. Along with the vivid dreams...

Sango blushed. The dreams she had been having – of Kohaku finding her, and having sex with her – it was so wrong, and sinful and so many other things –

– but it had felt so good. Repaying the love she felt for her brother in tangible, physical ways; indulging the secret feelings she had for him. In her dreams, she had been uninhibited and wanton as she pleased, satisfying her lust and desire.

Ignoring the fact incest was forbidden – it had only been a dream after all.

"Ane-ue?"

She smiled at the boy's sleepy question; Kohaku sat up and stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning, Kohaku. Sleep well?"

"Yeah." She squinted at him through the haze of pain that was her headache; Sango could have sworn he was smiling a little too smugly to be a mere answer. "And you?"

"Yes," she blushed. The older taijiya would rather die than share her – _explicit_ – dream with her little brother.

Kohaku got to his feet and rolled up his futon, putting it away in the corner. Walking over to her, he knelt behind and rested his face against her shoulder.

"Ane-ue," he breathed, in a tone of voice that sent both thrill of excitement and shudder of revulsion down her spine.

"K – Kohaku? What is it?" she queried. His nearness was overwhelming, reminding her so strongly of her dream.

"Don't you remember?" His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him, her body settling into his lap.

"Remember?" Sango was blushing hotly now, startled by her brother's unsibling-like behaviour – even Miroku was not allowed to be this intimate with her. But even then, she had not the heart to push him away – she gasped at the hard length she could feel, even through their clothes, pressing into her lower back...

"Why are you behaving like this?" the woman demanded, pushing herself away, "Kohaku, is something wrong?" Her heart pounded madly in her chest.

Hurt shone in his eyes. "You don't remember what happened last night?"

"I was drunk, and I fell asleep!" Sango racked her brains for anything else – and remembered the dream. Sickening, hot realization sank into her gut. "Oh gods – it wasn't a dream – "

His jaw had gone slack. "You thought it was a dream?"

She could not hear anything save the thumping of her heart in her ears – _she had slept with Kohaku, it was not a dream_ – and the clammy cold hands digging into her flesh. Sango staggered to her feet, rushing for the door. She made it to a nearby tree before she threw up.

Her shoulders shook as she continued to vomit the contents of her stomach; the sick feeling lingered despite her efforts, shrouding her body with guilt, with disgust, with revulsion –

She and Kohaku. Her only little brother. His eyes and hair, the exact same shade of brown –

Sango heaved but there was nothing left to bring up. Hot tears mingled with the fluids on the ground.

So dirty – unclean. _Filthy_. The taijiya tore at her skin, feeling it give way under her frantic scratches, the blood running over her skin to cleanse her sins.

"Ane-ue, stop it!" Kohaku's large hands shot out of nowhere, seizing her wrists and shaking.

"Get away from me!" she shrieked, tearing her hands out of his. "Don't come near me." The anger in her voice gradually bled out into a despair-filled sobbing.

She fell to her knees, the arms suddenly around her not making a move to arrest her motion. "Shhh," he said in that voice she remembered from last night, his warm hands cupping and caressing her face, neck, arms –

"Leave me alone," wept Sango, her body trembling uncontrollably. "Don't touch me." She struggled feebly in his embrace.

Kohaku kissed the side of her face, the tear streaks and the fresh tears. "Ane-ue."

When she had calmed somewhat, he leaned back, fixing his gaze on hers sternly. "Ane-ue, last night... I don't regret what happened." His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. "I love you and I did what I thought was natural."

"It's wrong," she mumbled in a dead voice. Now that the fight had gone out of her, the young woman was completely exhausted, her body sagging against her brother. "You're my brother."

"I am still your brother." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "More than your brother. I love you," he repeated, as though expecting the words to make everything right.

She would not be reassured. "Miroku," Sango said dully. "I can't face him – "

" – you don't have to." Kohaku's eyes sparkled with a new light she had never seen before. "We can leave now, before he gets back, and live somewhere else – somewhere with lilies, and you and I can rebuild the taijiya village and carry on the traditions – just like we planned to all along when we were young – "

Sango laughed, a short bark devoid of humour. "We aren't children any more, Kohaku. We can't run away to live in fantasies and hope everything will work out."

He fell silent.

"I... shouldn't have done that to you." She rested the palms of her hands on his shoulders, easing away from him. "I was wrong. I was drunk; I should have known better."

Anger coursed through Kohaku's veins. "It was the monk's fault!" he burst out. "He hurt you – he always hurts you – and you were suffering... it's not your fault. It's never your fault, Ane-ue."

She wobbled to her feet. "I have to tell Miroku before I leave," she said decisively. "Even if he can't forgive me." There was a maniac light in her eyes which only Lord Kagewaki had seen before; a woman who had lost everything she held dear and was preparing herself to follow.

Kohaku remained in a kneeling position on the ground, an odd look in his eyes. "I have a feeling Miroku won't be coming back, Ane-ue."

"... What?"

* * *

Miroku awoke suddenly, body jerking with convulsions. He coughed up the clot of blood which was obstructing his windpipe and rolled over on his back.

He was alive. The cold earth under his body, the chill of the morning air, the pain that shot through his muscles when he tried to move; they reminded him of the fact.

The robes he wore were little more than ribbons, having been thoroughly slashed by Kohaku's kusari-gama. The monk knew he should be dead, but yet –

He raised a pale hand with difficulty; it was filthy, coated with dirt mixed with his own blood. The dirt. It caked his exposed wounds, stopping the bleeding. Miroku had been lucky; if he had collapsed in the grass, he would have been dead now, lying in a pool of his own congealed blood. As it were, the earth had clotted, mixed with his blood, and stopped most of the bleeding.

Even alive, he was in no condition to move.

Blood loss made the young man dizzy; he thought back to the events of the previous night with difficulty.

Kohaku refused to kill him outright, toying with him just like that bear demon not that long ago. Shallow cuts decorated every inch of skin; the young taijiya had clearly wanted Miroku to bleed to death.

Thanks to the loose earth which now coated most of his body, he was not – but it was a close thing.

Every time he had attacked the taijiya, his efforts had been rewarded with another cut, and all without managing to injure the young man; he was just too fast. It did not help that the cut on his forehead dripped blood in his eyes and affected his vision.

_Sango._

He was alive – he could still protect her. The thought of her enough to force him to sit upright, ignoring the pain of the many wounds covering his body.

Miroku placed one tentative foot on the ground, struggling to stand up – and fell back with a cry. A few cuts opened up and warm blood flowed over cold skin.

It was no use. He was in no condition to move anywhere – and without proper medical attention, he knew he would die. He had lost quite a lot of blood.

_Sango._

The man lay back, closing his eyes. Kohaku had probably gotten back to Sango, filled her ears with his lies, told her he was never coming back. Dead, perhaps; maybe even having ran off with one of the myriad of pretty maidens.

At least she would be taken care off. He knew she would not be able to bear being left alone.

But the thought of Sango being with that man – not Kohaku any more – infuriated him.

_Sango._

Gritting his teeth, he placed his uninjured hand on the ground – he would get up, or die trying. Slowly, forcing what blood which remained in his body through sluggish limbs, the monk hauled his body upright –

– his legs wobbled a little, but they held his weight. Miroku managed to take a few unsteady steps forward and leaned against a tree, gripping the rough bark for leverage. His head was already spinning, throbbing from the blood loss.

It was all too much for him.

His fingers loosened their grip and he slumped to the base of the trunk, resting his head back. It was over; he would die here without anyone knowing, not even a proper burial to ensure his soul went on to the Pure Land. He would linger in hell for his sins – his many sins catching up with him in the end.

He was accustomed to the idea of death, after so many years of carrying the Kazaana and was ready to pass on peacefully. No regrets to tie his soul back to earth...

... except for Sango.

_Sango. I'm sorry. I was too weak. Goodbye._

As his vision faded to black, Miroku focused his remaining energy on creating an image of Sango in his mind's eye; she was smiling at him, and he smiled back.

_I love you._


	12. Twelve: Recovery

Miroku became aware of sound hovering over his head.

– _roku-sama, can you hear me? Thank goodness, I thought you were de – _

He frowned; Miroku was not expecting the afterlife to be this polite, not after all the sins he had committed in his life. "Mmmpgh," he said. _Funny. If I'm dead, I shouldn't be feeling pain from my wounds._

– _ound you. Inuyasha smelt something and we ca – _

_Inuyasha? That's strange._ As far as he knew, the hanyou was alive and well. Miroku gritted his teeth. So he was still alive, and that meant...

_Sango!_

Memories began flooding back; his right hand throbbed. An experimental movement of the fingers caused painful tightness so he left it alone. At least he could still move his left hand... Getting up was definitely out of the question; so was talking. He was reasonably sure Kagome and Inuyasha had saved him – perhaps they would look for Sango soon.

Miroku exhaled. His head still hurt from all that blood loss, and it was tiring just keeping up the flow of thoughts. Not to mention the voice hovering overhead.

_I'm sorry, Sango..._

He let go.

* * *

Kagome stopped talking. "He fell asleep again."

Inuyasha snorted. "Well, what were you expecting? Damn monk nearly bled to death out there."

"How can you be so callous, Inuyasha?" she demanded hotly. "Miroku-sama almost died and that's all you can say?"

The hanyou took a deep breath, before continuing in a surprisingly gentle tone. "He won't, because we got to him in time. Myouga-jiji showed up and left some blood-replenishing potion. Miroku's going to be fine."

She sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, Inuyasha." Kagome uncapped the bottle of crimson liquid and trickled a little into Miroku's mouth. "It's just – so many things have been happening, and now this – " Her breath hitched.

"Hey, you're not going to cry again, are you?" He leaned forward, a panicky look on his face.

"No," she said shakily, mopping at her face. "I've no reason too. Miroku-sama's going to be just fine, we got there in time. There's absolutely no reason for me to cry."

He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, ignoring Kagome's quiet sniffles. "Good."

There was silence as Kagome focused on pouring the potion down Miroku's throat.

"We were really lucky Myouga-jii-san happened to show up," she said eventually. "I don't think my medicines would have been enough..."

"Damned flea shows up only when he's really needed – and disappears when there's danger," remarked Inuyasha. "But I never thought I'd actually be grateful he chose to appear today." Kagome smiled, recognizing the closest her gruff hanyou would ever get to gratitude for his father's old retainer.

Miroku swallowed half a bottle convulsively; the rest trickled over his face. She wiped it up with a washcloth.

"Inuyasha..."

One ear swiveled from Miroku to her. "Yeah?"

"If Miroku-sama's like... _this_, I'm worried about Sango-chan and Kohaku-kun... Can you go and check on them?" She turned pleading eyes on him. "I'll stay here and look after Miroku-sama."

"Keh. You don't need to ask me." He was already getting to his feet, sliding Tetsusaiga into his belt. "I'll be back in a while."

If she had not asked him, Inuyasha would have gone anyway the instant he got a chance. Coupling the events of the previous afternoon with Miroku's horrific wounds...

He was not ready to tell Kagome – though he suspected she knew – the wounds were in the shape of Kohaku's kusari-gama.

* * *

Sango took a deep breath and stood up straight. "What do you mean, Kohaku?"

He got to his feet as well, brushing dirt off his knees. "Just what I said. I don't think Houshi-sama is coming back."

"Why...?'

The younger slayer shot her an intense look. She struggled to think back to the previous night, forcing the physical memories down along with her bile, back to the conversation...

"Your clothes," she said at last. "They were covered with blood – and your face. Youkai don't leave those kind of marks..."

Sango gasped, swaying unsteadily. Her thoughts unscattered by alcohol, she was able to see straight –

"Kohaku, you – Miroku – oh, gods – "

His eyes shifted sideways, demeanor nonchalant.

Wildly she attacked, barely able to see where she was going because of the tears that filled her eyes. Why had she drank? Why did not she see the truth before it was too late? _Why had she willingly blinded herself?_

Kohaku seized her wrists effortlessly, pinning her against the wall of the hut. "Don't, Ane-ue. You don't want to fight me."

She was sobbing, cursing, kicking at him. "Miroku – what did you do to him – gods – no – "

He leaned forward, his hot breath caressing her ear. "I took care of him. He won't be able to interfere with us anymore."

"Bastard!"

Kohaku raised his eyebrows. "Surely you can't be telling me this isn't what you wanted? You've never rejected me when I showed you how I truly felt about you, Ane-ue." His voice dropped to a low whisper. "Especially not last night."

"... Who are you?" Wild, terrified eyes stared into the young man's. "You aren't Kohaku."

_Miroku knew – and I ignored him._

"Why does everyone say that?" he asked with an incredulous laugh. "I'm your little brother, Ane-ue. Kohaku. We grew up together in the slayers' village. I was enslaved by Naraku and you fought to save me."

"That's everything I've told you over the past few months since you woke up!" she shot back, the terror gradually being replaced by anger.

"I've lost all my memories," he said softly in her ear. "I suffered so much under Naraku's control. I told Houshi-sama everything, but yet he didn't understand." He touched his cheek to hers; she flinched. "Won't you understand, Ane-ue?"

Tears of fear, helpless rage and sheer helplessness itself flowed down her cheeks. Sango wanted to lash out but the sight of that familiar face held her back; no matter how monstrous he had become, she still could not bring herself to hurt him. Not even when Miroku's life hung in the balance.

It shamed her.

"Let go of her, bastard!"

Inuyasha sprang out of nowhere and seized Kohaku by his collar, pulling him away from Sango. Boneless, she slumped to the ground.

"Sango, are you alright?" asked the hanyou. She nodded.

Kohaku twisted out of Inuyasha's grip and backed up, rubbing his neck. "That hurt," he observed.

"Fuck you," he replied, drawing Tetsusaiga. "I knew there wasn't something right with you all along."

"Me?" Kohaku spread his hands. "But I don't reek of Naraku. How can I be possessed?"

"Screw that. You don't need to be controlled by Naraku to be evil." The hanyou glanced over at Sango. "Get up, Sango – what the fuck's wrong with you? Why haven't you beaten the crap out of this bastard yet?" She bit her lip, forcing herself upright and glaring at Inuyasha until he was forced to look away.

The younger taijiya stared fondly at her. "You're interrupting my conversation with Ane-ue, Inuyasha-sama."

He snorted. "Conversation, my ass. You were forcing her against the damned wall." Kohaku opened his mouth and stepped forward, only to halt as Tetsusaiga's point was leveled at his throat. "Not another step, bastard. Not after what you did to Miroku."

Sango's head snapped up. "Miroku?" She lurched forward; Inuyasha caught her awkwardly around the waist, his cheeks turning pink.

Kohaku growled. "Take your hand off her."

She ignored him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Inuyasha, where's Miroku? Is he alright? Is he – "

He avoided her gaze. "He's alive," Inuyasha said bluntly. "But just barely. If I hadn't picked up Naraku's scent, and rushed there in time, he wouldn't be."

"Naraku?"

The younger man's lip twisted. "That's impossible. I didn't do anything, didn't leave it behind..." His hands roamed over his clothes, feeling for the little jar –

"Looking for this?" Inuyasha held it up between two claws; the seal was broken through. "You dropped it beside Miroku."

He fell silent. "I don't know how the hell you managed to get that," he said at last, "but fine. So the monk lives to womanize another day. It doesn't matter."

Sango stared blankly at him. "Kohaku?" she asked, sounding years younger. Her brother looked away.

"He couldn't understand. I was just punishing him for what he did to you all these years, Ane-ue – he hurt you. He played with your feelings." The hard lines of his forehead softened. "You didn't deserve to suffer like that."

Her breath caught in her throat; deathly pale, she looked like she was going to collapse if Inuyasha was not supporting her.

"I only did what I had to!" He paced like a caged tiger; Inuyasha's eyes followed every movement. Stopping in front of his sister, the feral look softened.

"I did it for you, Ane-ue. Everything was for you."

She flinched as though slapped in the face. Kohaku's jaw tightened; he drew back.

"Get the hell away from her," barked Inuyasha. "You've done enough. Leave, before I kill you."

"Sure, puppy," leered the younger slayer. "You wouldn't kill anyone; that irksome sense of honour prevents you. And really, do you think Ane-ue would stand by and watch her only little brother be murdered before her eyes?"

It was testament to how much he had changed that he did not snap at the taunt. Inuyasha merely looked darkly murderous – an expression he had been wearing for the past hour. His hand, however, tightened around Tetsusaiga's hilt.

"I should've killed you earlier when I had the chance," snarled the hanyou, "and spared everyone the trouble."

"You should've – but you didn't." There was a manic gleam in his eyes; every instinct in Inuyasha was warning him away. "You're weak, halfbreed. That priestess made you soft."

This time, it was the hanyou who stepped forward, claws raised, ready to disembowel Kohaku – and Sango the one to stop him, her hands fisted in his clothes.

"Sango."

She nodded, knowing what was about to come. Her lip was trembling. "But I can't."

His voice was almost gentle. "Sango, this isn't Kohaku any more."

"But still..." Her fingers clenched tighter. Kohaku only smirked in the background.

His hand went to her shoulder and gripped it tightly. "Get real, Sango. This asshole nearly killed Miroku and you're still protecting him?"

"There can't be any mistake... he's really my brother..."

The hanyou made an irritated sound. "Feh. Have it your way, you stupid woman." Prying Sango's hands off, he seized a length of rope from the house. The younger slayer made no attempt to free himself, merely smirking as he was disarmed and bound.

"We're going back to Kaede's village, Kagome'll be worried. Since you won't let me kill him, he comes too." He slung Kohaku over one shoulder and motioned at his back. "Climb on."

* * *

"Ane-ue."

Now and then, Inuyasha would break his stride to jump or duck and Sango would be jolted. The wind roared ceaselessly in her ears. Even with that, it was difficult to ignore him.

Kohaku – _KohakuKohakuKohaku_ – lifted his head to look at her, his voice pleading. "Ane-ue."

She buried her face in Inuyasha's shoulder and pretended not to notice.

The young man's lips curved into a smile. "I know you can hear me, Ane-ue. You're doing what you used to do when Father was looking for us, and we would hide from him."

He was no brother of hers, and yet...

"You aren't my brother," she rasped. "You're not Kohaku." But her voice was faint and easily lost on the wind.

"Then why do I know so much?" He cocked his head, fully confident. "Why am I remembering things – about you, about me, about our village?"

"... Lies."

"Oh no." Kohaku narrowed his eyes. "I _know_, and it's killing you. That and what we did. But, my sister, you can't pretend Father never told you."

Sango's fingers dug into Inuyasha's clothes and he made a growl of complaint. Hot tears leaked out, staining the red haori a darker shade.

"The slayers' tribe must go on," he said in that sibilant voice she had come to fear so much, "no matter what happens. We are the children of the chief; we have to preserve the bloodline no matter what."

The older slayer's head snapped up; he laughed at the stricken look there.

"I was listening that day, your sixteenth birthday. Father had called you in for an important meeting, but I wasn't about to leave for the river without you."

"He knew things would never come to that," Sango interjected sharply, some of the fire reentering her gaze. "Father was only telling me of the long-forgotten ancient custom of our people because I had come of age."

"Where are our people then?" Kohaku demanded. "Who else survived? Do you want our people, our way of life to die with us?"

"It will not. We can rebuild, pass on our father's teachings..." She lowered her eyes. "We were about to, before you – "

Kohaku laughed harshly. "What, teach flea-bitten refugees the arts of demon slaying? Don't tell me, you were going to use the monk to pass on our bloodline?"

She bit her lip – Kohaku's head rocked back from the force of the slap. A trickle of blood ran from his cut lip.

"It's wrong, no matter how you look at it. A sin."

He glanced elsewhere coolly. "You may think of it as you please."


End file.
